A STREAK OF LUCK 

.Z 9 W t 5? 

AN AMERICAH^ COMEDY 



IN FIVE TABLEAUX. 



FKEELY ADAPTED FROM 

Besant and Rice's "The Golden BuTTEftFLY. 



New York : 
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR. 

1879. 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 



AN AMERICA!^ COMEDY 



IN FIVE TABLEAU 




/iu rwv^*^ tk^^^ 




freely adapted from 
Besant and Rice's *'The Golden Butterfly.'^ 



■ft 'r^?^> 



New York : 
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR. 

4879. 






v 

c ^ 

'Y^,^ 



CoPYRiaHT, 1879. 



TIME: THE PEESENT. 



Scene — New York. 



CHARACTERS: 

GiLEAD W. Frary, of Fraropolis. 
Lawrence Bainbridge, a man of leisure. 
EoNALD MoRTLAKE, an Englishman. 
Joseph Now ark, a lawyer. 
Henry St. John, a capitalist. 
Humphrey Nowark, an artist, ) rp^j^^g 
Lucius Nowark, a poet, ) 

Ephraim Sowlld, a private secretary. 
Phillis Lamont, who can neither read nor write. 
Agatha Suncliffe, a widow. 
Madeleine St. John, a woman with a history. 
Antoinette Malraison, a French maid. 
A Maid-of- ALL- WORK in the house of Joseph No- 
wark. 
A Lawyer's Clerk. 



TABLEAU I. 

A GENERAL INTRODUCTION. 

Draiv lag -room in the house of Joseph Noivark; fire- 
place; library table; book-cases; near fire-place 
large arm-chair, in tvhich Humphrey Noivark, 
asleep; near table another, in tvhich Lucius 
Noivark, also asleej); after an instant both 
wake. 

H. N. Why! I've been asleep. [Stretching.] 

L. N. Why? So have I! [stretching.] That's 
strange; how could it have happened, bi'other? 

H. N. My dear Lucius, it must have been the 
mental action that the " Upheaving of Montezuma " 
always causes, which exhausted you. Your brain- 
work, brother, is terribly severe. Ah ! what a poem 
yours will be! I shall glory in the reflected light of 
Lucius, the poet. But [rising and approaching tvin- 
dow, rear] did you ever see a purer symphony in gold 
and brown than those sun-rays shining on the mud 
yonder? 

L. N. [Rising.] Ah! what an artistic eye you 
have, brother! We poets, wrapped in our musings, 
live in another sphere, but you — why [tvalking the 
floor excitedly] even sunshine and mad, the most 
common things, suggest a beautiful effect. 

H. N. [Still at tvindow and sighting through closed 
hands.] I must really fix that effect. [L. N. goes 
to closet L and takes out two glasses, tvhich he fills. ~\ 

L. N. [Holding otd glass to H. N] Brother! 

H. N. Oh! Ah! Yes, indeed. Eeally. [Looking 
a7id then tasting.] Old Tom? Thank you. [Botli 
drinking.] 

Servant. [Entering and arran.ging glasses &c., 
in closet.] Mr. Humphrey, did you know that Miss 
Lamont had come? 

H. N. Why, no: has she? 

Serv. She came this afternoon with a French 
maid, and is up in Mr. Joseph's room. 

L. N. Brother, don't you suppose Miss Lamont 
would like some champagne for dinner? 

H. N. What a man you are, brother Lucius! Al- 
ways thinking of others' comfort! Jane [to servant] 



6 A STREAK OF LUCK. 

you must put plenty of Mumm's Ex. Dry on the ice 
for dinner. I am certain Miss Lamont likes Mumm's 
Ex. Dry. Be sure, now. 

Serv. Oh, Mr. Joseph said he should have one or 
two friends to dinner to-night. The wine will he 
ready, sir. \ Ret ires.] 

L.'N. [Taking arm of H. N.] Come, brother, let 
us go out into the air. This glorious afternoon will 
suggest thoughts fit for Montezuma. 

H. N. Yes, and the sky, with its brilliant hues, 
the clouds with their tints, will suggest effects fit 
for the painting your plan— the Apotheosis of Wash- 
ington. 

L. N. What a poetical mind you have, Huniph- 
rey! 

H. N. Ah I What an artist's eye is yours, Lucius! 
[Retire^ and re-enter Servant, who busies herself 
about the room, then coming for ivard.] 

Serv. Well ? there they go. I never could see 
v^hy Mr. Joseph kept two such useless kids round 
the house. Mr. Humphrey an artist I Why he 
couldn't paint a country stage-coach ! Mr. Lucius 
a poet ! If that's the stuff poets is made of, I don't 
v^ant 'em 'round me. They eat their breakfast and 
then take a walk, and then come in and go up to 

what Mr. Lucius calls their- — -sancrurn that's 

it, sancrum, and go to sleep. They do nothing all 
day and sit up all night, and if I was Mr. Joseph I 
wouldn't spend all my life getting bread and butter 
for any such luggage, not me I [Bustles abotd, and 
tvhile at tvorh enter Joseph Noiuark and Latvrence 
Bainbridge\ 

J. N. [Motioning Bain, to seat, and taking seat 
himself by table.] I'm very glad to see you back in 
ISTew^ York after so long a time, Mr. Bainbridge. We 
never quite understood why you left us so suddenly, 
or what kept you away. 

L. B. Well, it was a whim, a fancy. I had no 
business, you know. Aimy life had unfitted me for 
that. And so I thought I'd wander West. I don't 
regret it. Many's the strange experience I've had. 
I am glad, though, to return. And how is my little 
ward? ' 

J. N. Phillis is little no longer, Mr. Bainbiidge. 
I don't think you will recognize your little ward in 
the tall young lady up stairs. By the way, did you 
ever particularly acquaint yourself wuth the system 
of education that old Mr. Dyson trained Phillis in? 

L. B. I never did. I have been remiss in my duty 



A STREAK OF LUCK. T 

to the little girl. But now I'll assume my responsi- 
bility. Why do you ask, though? 

J. N. Well, it has seemed to me that there was 
something singular in her manner. Not that it 
isn't charming, and maidenly, and all that; but it's 
queer. She doesn't seem like other girls. When 
you see her you can judge. 

L. B. You know old Mr. Dyson was her father's 
most particular friend, and at Lamont's death she 
went there to live and was entii'ely under his charge. 
He w^as eccentric enough, certainly. Now I think 
of it, I don't believe I have ever written a letter to 
her in all this time, and not more than two or three 
to him during his life. Is she pretty? 

J. N. You shall see when she comes down. And 
while I think of it, in the course of your travels did 
you ever meet an individual by the name of Gilead 
W. Frary ^ He is one of the men whom oil has made 
suddenly rich. I expect him here this afternoon. 

L. B. Gilead W. Frary! Wiinkhig]. The name 
sounds familiar. [Suddenly] Yes, it must be the 
man. It must be. The queerest genius you ever 
saw. I saved his life from a grizzly in the Sierra 
Nevadas. [Enter servant, tvho hands card to J. iV.] 

J. N. [reads\ Gilead W. Frary. [Toservant^^ Show 
the gentleman up. [To L. i?.] Here's your man. 
He's certainly prompt. 

[Servant usher sin Mr. G. W. F. Notv. and Bain.- 
rise. J 

G. W. F. [Going to Now. and grasping his hand.} 
Mr. Nowark, I'm delighted to see you. This is one 
of God's afternoons, sir, and it's no credit to me 
that I am prompt. Col. Quigg, of Indianopolis, of 
the law firm of Quigg, Wiggins & Higgins — a man 
of your profession, sir — used to say that prompt- 
ness, not order, was heaven's first law. Why, sir, 
I've seen that man talk to a Western jury — [Sees 
Bainbridge, and leaving Noivarh, tvhose hand he has 
held, rushes to Bainbridge and grasps his]. Is it 
possible that this is Mr. Bainbridge. Sir, I have 
never forgotten you. It is owing to you, sir, that 
Gilead W. Frary is able to breathe heaven's free air 
on this beautiful afternoon. It was a case of Frary 
versus Grizzly, and Grizzly had the best case. 
What's more, there was no appeal. [Turning to 
Now. , hut still holding Bain by hand. ] Mr. Now- 
ark, this gentleman saved my life. If he isn't the 
author of my existence, he's its preserver. I owe 
him a debt, I've got the means to pay it, and by 
Jove I propose to do so. 



8 A STREAK OF LUCK. 

J. N. You certainly have the means to pay, Mr. 
Frary. But be seated [Motioning to chair. All sit, 
but Frary rises and stands in front of fire-place.'] 

Frary. Mr. Nowark, let me tell you about the 
way this gentleman saved my life. It was in the 
sage-bush, a mile or two back of Empire City. 
Since I'd been in the dog-goned country I'd had one 
or two near things, but that was the nearest. I 
went over from Carson to Empire City for work. 
I needed it. Adam wasn't more destitute when the 
garden gates were shut on him. Pretty much all I 
had was an old gun. I had the prettiest shot at 
that old grizzly you ever saw, but somehow I missed. 
Then he started in my direction, and there ensued 
one of the prettiest, cleanest-footed races you ever 
dreamed of. But that grizzly was a good runner. 
One minute more and Gilead W. Frary would have 
personally interviewed St. Peter, but your bullet 
[going to where L. B. sits, and, taking again his 
hand] deprived the saiut of that pleasure. I said 
then, sir, that if I ever had any luck you should 
share it. and your friend with you. Is that gen- 
tleman in the land of the living? 
i Bain. Mortlake? Yes, he's here in New York. 

Frary. Then, gentlemen, I shall invite you to the 
best dinner that Mr. Delmonico can furnish a man 
with money in his purse. I shall telegraph to San 
Francisco for a hind-quarter of grizzly bear in honor 
of the occasion. 

Bain. Which I shall be glad to taste. But Mr. 
Frary, how is it that I meet you here in New York. 
You told me once you never proposed to come East. 

Fra. Mr. Bainbridge, man i)roposes, but that's 
the end of it. Since I saw you I have been treated 
as tough as Providence can treat a man when it's 
thoroughly down on him. I've taught singin- 
school in Tipton, Iowa; I've been conductor on a 
Pullman Palace car; I've been ticket-taker to a cir- 
cus company. But I'm happy to say that Provi- 
dence has let up on me. I guess it's because it buf- 
fetted me so long that it got completely tired out. 
I'm not a boasting man, Mr. Nowark, but my in- 
come must be close on to twenty-five hundred dol- 
lars a day, Sundays included. 

Now. Is it possible? I shall w^arn all the mar- 
riageable young women I know of the fact. By 
the way, where is our young lady? [Goes to bell- 
rope and rings. Servant enters.] Go up stairs and 
ask Phillis and Mrs. Suncliffe if they can come 
down. [Servant retires]. 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 9 

Fka. Do so, sir. I love the girls. Give me a 
fresh face, no air-s. Is this young lady a relation? 

Now. I am trustee for her estate, and as one of 
her guardians— the one w^ith whom she lived— has 
just died, she is to stay with us for a while. Mrs. 
Suncliffe, my sister, will, after a little, take her to 
Englewood, Vhere she has a place, and hves most 
of the year. I will present you. \Evfer Phil, and 
Mrs. San. The gentlemen rise\ 

Now. PhilHs, let me present to Mrs. Suncliffe 
and to you, Mr. Bainbridge. He nieaus to fill Mr. 
Dyson's place for you, my dear. And Mr. Frary 
also. [Turning to Fra.\ 

[Fra. recognizes Phil., and crossing, engages in 
conversation ivith Mrs. Sun.'}. 

Bain. [Kissing Phil. onfo7'ehead.'\ So this is little 
Phillis, whom I remember as a rosy-cheeked, roly- 
poly little thing of twelve. Now how she's changed ! 

Phil. Oh I'm so glad to see you, I've wanted to 
so much. You were a friend of my poor papa's. 

Bain. His best friend. 

Fra. [Turning from Mrs. Sun, and taking both 
hands of Phil, in his own.} I am told. Miss Phillis, 
that Mr. Bainbridge is your guardian. Now I 
should be poetical, if I knew how, gazing on your 
fresh cheeks, my dear, but I'd rather confine my- 
self to facts and tell you what a guardian you've 
got. You will not be offended if I tell you that he 
is pre-eminently Boss. He saved my life from a 
grizzly bear in the Sierra Nevadas, Miss Phillis. I 
hope, my dear, you'll never hear such a sound as the 
crack of his rifle that day. 1 thought it was the 
crack of doom! [Solemnly.} 

Phil. Did he save your life? [Looking toivard 
Bain.} 

Bain. [Coming fonvard.} Mr. Frary says so, 
Phillis, but, as I remember it, Mortlake and 1 fired 
at the same time, and the bear was hit by both 
shots. But he's writing up our travels. You shall 
read all about it in his book. 

Phil. Oh, but Mr. Bainbridge, I can't read. 

All. [In astonishment.} You can't read! 

Phil. Why, no. Mr. Dyson used to say that 
reading and writing weren't of half as much conse- 
quence as many other things to a young girl. I 
can't read or write, but I paint fairly well, and I 
love to play. 

Fra. Great Lord ! He kept you till this and never 
taught you to read and write! His brain must have 



10 A STREAK OF LUCK. 

been as crazy as a Connecticut gospel -grinder's at 
a Methodist camp -meeting! 

Mrs. Sun. [Tb J5am.] It's indeed so, Mr. Bain- 
bridge. This strange system of education of Mr. 
Dyson's has kept the child fifteen years behind her 
age. 

Phil. [With aun nation.] Now I'm not so sure 
about that, Mrs. Suncliffe. Mr. Dyson used to say 
that half the false teaching in life came from filling- 
children's heads with ideas they couldn't under- 
stand. 

Bain. [Fra. , crossing and conversing with J. N. 
and Mrs. S.] But how did you pass your time, 
Phillis? [They take seats near fire-place.] 

Phil. Oh, it was a very quiet life. Only two or 
three old gentlemen ever came to the house, and I 
never went out. Then I had a music teacher twice 
a Aveek. I play by memory, you know. 

Bain. But, my dear, how did you contrive to 
pass the day? 

Phil. That was very easy. I had a ride before 
breakfast. There was a large field, you know, that 
I could ride in. Then, after breakfast, Mr. Dyson 
and I talked on what he called Subjects, for an hour 
or two. Then, for the rest of the day, I played, 
sewed and drew. 

Bain. And you had no girl friends? 

Phil. No. Mr. Dyson said that most young girls 
were fools. 

Bain. And you never before have been in New 
York? 

Phil., Never, since I was a child. 

Bain. [Musingly.] What a strange education! 
[To Phil.] I'm afraid there is a great deal that we 
shall have to correct in all this, Miss Phillis. There'll 
be many things for you to learn, little girl. 

Phil. Oh. it's all so strange and new to me that 
I'm bewildered with it. [Fra. comes across to fire- 
place.] , 

Fra. I ain't sure that that idea of your guardian's 
about learning girls to read too early. Miss Phillis, 
is wrong. When I was about twenty I kept a dis- 
trict school for a dollar a day. It was out in Ohio. 
There was a scholar in my school by the name of 
Pete Dinwiddle, and I always thought he used to 
like a seat between two of the girls when he didn't 
have his lesson, which candor compels me to state 
was most of the time. You see, the most of the 
boys used to regard this as a disgrace, but Pete en- 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 11 

joyed it. One day I found out that little Remember 
Squeei's, one of the brightest girls in the whole 
school, but a little thing, put Pete up to missing his 
lessons so he could come over and sit with her. 
You see there are some thmgs gii-ls leai'u too quick, 
and on mature deliberation I incline to think read- 
ing and \vriting help 'em to their precocious con- 
dition. 

J. Now. I'm afraid, Mr. Frar3^ you're not a be- 
liever in the higher education of woman. 

Fra. I am, sir. I believe in fitting her to adorn 
any sphere. But some women, sir, can be over- 
educated. I don't believe that would be jDossible 
with this charming young lady here. But w^hat I 
mean is this: When I was about thirty-five I edited 
a paper in that dehghtful part of Illinois kno\^'n as 
Egypt. I wonder if any of you have ever been 
there? [^AU dissent.'] No? Then, my friends, you 
don't know what you've gained. The first man that 
named that country Egypt had a profound sense of 
the eternal fitness of things. My paper was the 
' ' Pawnee Clarion, " and I thought as it was a new 
thing for that section I'd have a society column. So 
one of the issues devoted considerable space to such 
items as "Mrs. Badger, the accomplished wife of 
Alderman Ben Badger, was seen on Main avenue 
to-day in a lovely new brown and white striped 
gingham dress." There were more of the same kind, 
but that's a fair sample. After that issue my first 
visitor was Ben Badger. He called to say that as a 
member of the city government he wouldn't submit 
to have his wife libeled. I tried to show him that 
I meant my item for a compliment. "Compli- 
ment," said Badger, " it's beastly twaddle." Said I, 
' ' Mr. Badger, which member of your august board 
does the heavy business?" Said he, " We all take a 
hand in when it's serious, but I think I'm enough 
for you. " It didn't take more than five minutes for 
me to finish him, but the trouble was that I had to 
keep up that sort of thing all day. The husband 
of every woman in town called on me for a per- 
sonal explanation. By night I was perfectly ex- 
hausted, and the next day I sold out that paper for 
two hundred and fifty dollars. But the point I'm 
driving at is that those women, if they'd been a lit- 
tle less high and mighty, would have seen that what 
they thought was an insult, I meant for a compli- 
ment. [Draiving out large bandanna handkerchief 
and iviping his forehead.] [Enter at left, while all 



12 A STREAK OF LUCK. 

are amused at Frary^s recital^ H. Nowark and L. 
Noivarh. J. Now. steps forward, tvhile they recog- 
nize Mrs. Sun. and Bain.\ 

J. N. Phillis, I want to present to you my 
two brothers, Mr. Humphrey Nowark, Mr. Lucius 
Nowark, Miss Lamont. My brother Humphrey is 
an artist, Philh^, while Lucius is going to be a great 
poet. [Phillis botvs.] [To Fra.] Mr. Frary, my 
brothers. We are all old bachelors, and to have 
ladies in the house is such a new experience we 
hardly know how to act. [Laughingly.] 

Fra. Gentlemen, I'm delighted to meet you. 

H. NoAV. [Both H. N. and L. N. standing near 
Phil.] Miss Lamont, my brother Lucius [bowing to 
L.], who is just presented to you, is a marvel. To 
know him is a liberal education. Cultivate him, 
talk to him, learn from him. You'll be very glad 
some day to know that you've known him. To con- 
verse with him is culture itself. He will be one of 
the greatest artists of any age or time. 

L. Now. [Bowing to H.] My brother needlessly 
depreciates himself. Miss Lamont. He will be a great 
painter. It will well become you, too, to know that 
child-like and simple nature, aglow with the flame 
of genius and innocent of the world. [Bain, watch- 
ing in amusement.] 

Phil. Really, are you an artist and poet? I don't 
know anything about poets, and [to H. N.]l never 
supposed an artist was quite like you. 

Fra. [Aside.] Nor I either, by Jove. And what's 
more, I don't believe an artist is like him — al- 
though — although— the breed does look and act like 
the devil himself sometimes. 

Bain. [Coming forivard, the twins standing aim- 
in-arm and looking at them.] Phillis, I want to 
talk with you a little. [They pass to side.] Tell 
me something more about your guardian and his 
system. I've been very remiss in my duties to you, 
I'm afraid. 

Phil. Oh, no one could have been kinder to me 
than dear old Mr. Dyson'^ He often spoke of you, 
and wondered why you kept away from New York. 
I like you already, but it does not seem to me as if 
I would ever like you as well as him. And why 
haven't you ever been to see me? 

Bain. Well, Phillis, New York wasn't a pleasant 
place for me, so I've kept out of it. 

Phil. It seems to me so lovely. And I know I 
shall find lots of fiiends. Mrs. St. John, whose 



A STKEAK OF LUCK. 13 

husVaiul is some relative of Mr. Dyson's, is coming 
to see me to day. 

Bain. What! Madeleine St. John ! \ Aside.] She 
mnst not meet me, or I her, here. 

Phil. Why, do yon know her? 

Bain. I nsed to, my dear. [Musing.] 

H. N. [Who, vnth L. iV., has been talking to 
Frary at side.] Yon, my dear sir [to Fra.\ so able 
to become a Meca^nas if yon choose, nnist come to 
our little workshop, as we call it, and my brother 
Lucius shall read to you one or two stanzas of "The 
Upheaving of Montezuma." [To L. N.] Will you 
not, brother? 

Fra. The Upheaving of Montezuma! Great Popo- 
catapettl ! 

L. N. [To H. N.] You, brother, shall show Mr. 
Frary the sketches for the Apotheosis of Washing- 
ton. Will you not? 

Fra. Great Lord! [The twins place themselves 
one on each side of Fra., and the three ex.] 

Bain. [Rising, and to Mrs. Sun., who has been 
talking ta J. N.] Mrs. Suncliffe, I pieant to have 

stayed longer with you, but [Enter Mrs. St. 

John]. 

Mrs. St. J. My dear Mrs. Suncliffe, I thought I 
would come up without the formality of sending 
my name. I'm so glad — —[Catches sight of Bain., 
and, starting, sinks into chair]. 

Mrs. Sun. Are you faint? What is it? [All com- 
ing forward. ] 

Mrs. St. J. [After a moment.] Pm better. [Ris- 
ing.] I think it was a little faintness only. [To> 
Bain.] I'm sure this must be Mr. Bainbridge. 
[Boiving.] 

Bain. [Boivifig.] I'm very glad to see you again, 
Mrs. St. John. 

(curtain falls.) 



TABLEAU II. 

THE STORY OF A FORTUNE. 

Drawing-room of Mrs. St. John. At rear, opening 
from it, conservatory. At side, piano; oppo- 
site, sofas; in centre, table; Phillisand Mortlake 
discovered, Phillis playing, Mort. leaning over 
piano. 

MoRT. So Mr. St. John is a relative of yours? 

Phil. No, not of mine. He is Mr. DyvSon's 
nephew. Mr. Dyson, you know, left all his prop- 
erty to found an institution for educating young 
ladies as I have been educated. 

MoRT. Without learning to read or write. 

Phil. Yes, but Mr. Nowark teUs me that part of 
his plan is lost, so the heirs are going to contest the 
will, whatever that is. Mr. St. John wants to 
divide the money among the relatives. Isn't that 
funny, when he has so much already? 

Mort. ^AmazecT]. Awfully. Never heard of such 
a funny thing in my hfe. Never. And you like 
Mr. Nowark? 

Phil. Oh, there are three of them. Don't you 
know the twins? 

Mort. Can't say I ever had that pleasure. Are 
they children^ 

Phil. [Laughing]. Yes, with beards that long! 
[dumb shoic\ 

Mort. Ah I Curious I Ought to be exhibited! 

Phil. [Gravely^ I will tell you what I mean. Mr. 
Dyson used to say that some people fool away 
their youth till when they grow older they can't 
do even poor work. I think the twins belong to 
that class of people. 

Mort. Ah! I'm sorry. But you said you would 
show me your drawings. Miss Lam out. 

Phil. So I will, if you wish to see them. I had 
them with me when I came over with Aunt this af- 
ternoon, [Going to portfolio, and taking several 
drawings, ivhich she hands Mort]. 

Mort. They are excellent. You are an artist, 
Miss Lamont. 

Phil. It seems so funny to be called Miss. Every- 
body used to call me Phillis. 

Mort. Was everybody young? 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 15 

Phil. No, everybody was old. But I like to be 
called Phil. best. And your name is Ronald? [i?e- 
peatimj]. Ronald! That's stiff ! 

MoRi\ My friends call nie Jack.- 

Phil. [Clapping her hands]. Oh, I like that bet- 
ter. May I call you Jack? 

MoRT. Yes, if you will let me call you Phil. 

Phil. And we will be great friends, won't we, 
Jack? 

MoRT. Yes, and let's shake hands over our 
promise. 

Phil. [Extending both hands, which 3Iort. takes]. 
Jack Mortlake, I like you very much. I hope I 
shall like you more. Now we must always be 
friends. 

MoRT. [Holdiyig her hands still]. Phil Lamon+. I 
think you are the loveliest girl I ever saw in my 
life. I — hope — I shall like you more and more. 
Let's seal the bargain — early Christians, you know 
— with a kiss. [Attempting to draw her toivard 
him. As he approaches to kiss her, she draivs her- 
self away.] 

Phil. [With troubled air.] You mustn't do that. 
Jack? 

MoRT. [Hanging his head.] Please forgive me, 
Phil. 

Phil. I'll forgive you, Jack, but you must not do 
so any more. [They turn to drawings and look 
them over. Enter Mrs. Sun. and Mrs. St. John. 
Mort. engages in conversation with Mrs. Sun. and 
Mrs. St. J. approaches Phil.] 

Mrs. St. J. Miss Lamont, come and let us have 
a little chat. [Both sitting on sofa L.] We used to 
think, Miss Lamont, that perhaps you had some- 
thing to do with your old guardian's eccentricities,, 
but when he died, and left all his property to female 
education, we found that we had done you a wrong. 
[Mort. and Mrs. S. walk into conservatory.] 

Phil. Why, I have got money enough myself. 
Why should he leave me his money? 

Mrs. St. J. [Aside.] WJiat a girl. [To Phil.] , 
But think of his money going to found such a heath- 
enish system I If he had only left it to the Society 
for the Extension of the Knowledge of Ceramics 
among Indigent Females! But to bring up girls as 
you were brought up! It's dreadful. 

Phil. But I'm respectable. [In broken accents.] 

Mrs. St. J. Of course you are. But my dear, 
you can't read or write. Every ciiild of eight can 
do that. 



16 A STREAK OF LUCK. 

Phil. Peiliaps that's the worse for the child. 

Mrs. St. J. [Severely.] Miss Lamont, you are 
Yeiy wrong. Everybody in society knows how to 
read and write. iPhiL first commences to cry, the7i 
begins to ivhistle.'] Oh! my dear, dear young lady, 
you must not whistle I 

Phil. Don't people in society whistle! 

Mrs. St. J. Heavens! It's very vulgar. Never 
do so. But first, now, let me see how you are 
dressed. Just stand a moment. [Phil, stands.] 
Well, my dear, for one thing, you are perfectly 
dressed. That will go very far. [Phil, seats her- 
self. ] Now what are your other accomplishments? 
I want to know your means of attraction. 

Phil. But why need girls tiy to attract? 

Mrs. St. J. Phillis Lamont, ask me that ques- 
tion in one year's time if you can! 

Phil. [Hesitatingly.] I can draw a little and 
play. I have some of ray drawings here. Shall I 
show them to you. [Goes to table C\ takes port- 
folio of drawings and hands them to Mrs. St. J. ivho 
examines them critically.] 

Mrs. St. J. They, are clever drawings, Miss Flem- 
ing, but show a tendency to caricature. This you 
must avoid. Men hate a woman who can make 
fun of them. 

Phil. Oh! 

Mrs. St. J. But on the whole, my dear child, I 
think I can make you succeed. Now it's absolutely 
necessary that you should read and write [going 
to table and taking a silk bag] I've brought some 
aljjhabet blocks for you. They are the same the 
charity children learn their letters with [seats her- 
self pours tlie blocks on the sofa, and selects two.] 
Now see this one. Can you tell what the picture 
is? 

Phil.. [Taking block and looking at it.] It looks 
hke some sort of a deer. But it's awfully drawn! 

Mrs. St. J. It is an antelope, A. And this? 
[Handing Phil, second block.] 

Phil. Oh! that's a bear! 

Mrs. St. J. B. And this? [Same as before ivith 
third.] 

Phil. Cat! [In glee.] I'm getting on! 

Mrs. St. J. C. Now, Pm going to teach you in 
this way. 

Phil. Then an antelopa is A, a bear B, and a cat 
C? I see. 

Mrs. St. J. Oh, what shall I do with her? 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 17 

Phil. Mrs. St. John, you don't like me! I know- 
it. I- ni not like other girls. When I rode out yes- 
terday I saw all sorts of looking girls. Some that 
walked like this [rising and iynitating\ and others 
like this. I'm not like them. And then the boys! 
They were all w^histling this air. [Whistles.^ 

Mrs. St. J. Oh, my dear young lady; don't, don't, 
don't! Let me hear you sing instead. [Phil, seats 
herself at piano, and after play /prelude sings. 
Mort. and Mrs. L. reenter.] 

Phil. [At close.] There; do I sing as well as most 
girls in society? 

Mrs. St. J. Very much better, Miss Fleming. 
Now" I'm sure I can make you get on. 

Mrs. Sun. [Conujig forivard.] And now% Mrs. 
St. John, I think w^e must leave you. I'm going to 
take Phillis down to Stewart's. You know she has 
never seen a store! 

Mrs. St. J. Never — seen — a — store! What an aw^- 
ful condition of mind! It's terrible! 

Mort. Never saw a store myself. We call 'em 
shops, you know\ May I go, too? 

Phil. Oh, yes, you must come, Jack? 

Mrs. St. J. Jack! 

Mort. Our way, Mrs. St. John. Phil. , Jack, 
don't you see. [Pointing first lo Phil., then to him- 
self] 

Mrs. Sun. I think w^e must change our little girl 
in many w^ays, Mrs. St. John. And I'm ashamed 
of you, Mr. Mortlake. But come, Phillis; we 
must be going. [All move totvard door.] 

Phil. [Going oid.] Mrs. St. John, don't people 
in society call one another by their first names? 
[Ex. Phil. Mort. and Mrs. Sun.] 

Mrs. St. J. [Seating herself at piano and running 
over keys; then resting her head on her hands.] 
What a strange girl. So unconventional, yet such a 
lady. I wonder if he would care for her — if he will 
care for her. He's her guardian, and such a posi- 
tion [Eyiter maid ivho hands Mrs. St. J. card.] 

Show the gentleman in. Now I will see. He shall 
not fall in love with her. I will prevent it. [Enter 
Bain.] 

Bain. [Mrs. St. J. rising and taking his hand.] 
The duke's motto, Mrs. SI . John; I am here. What 
is your wish, Madame? 

Mrs. St. J. I did want so to see you, Lau- 
rence. You know why. 

Bain. My name is Bainbridge, Mrs. St. John. 



18 A STREAK OF LUCK. 

Mrs. St. John. My name, Laurence, is Made- 
leine. Have you forgotten it? [Seatiyig herself.^ 

Bain. I have forgotten everything; the past is 
dead between you and me. 

Mrs. St. J. No, I cannot bury it, Laurence. 
[Bursting into tears.] I cannot. 
. Bain. This is very fooHsh. You have a hus- 
band, older than yourself, it is true, but at least 
worthy of your respect. A child whom you love — 
if you can love anything. 

Mrs. St. J. Oh, Laurence! 

Bain. And why do ' you seek to reopen the past? 
In deference to your wishes I w-ent abroad. I stayed 
four years. Then, returning, and not seeing you, 
I buried myself in the West. You married. I 
regarded myself as free and returned to New 
York. I have forgotten everything of those few 
days of madness and repentance. I do not seek to 
remember them! 

Mrs. St. John. But I cannot forget! 

Bain. You must. Think of what you are— a 
married w^oman. Have pride enough in your hus- 
band's name to keep it unsullied by this sort of 
thing. The manner of it don't suit you. 

Mrs. St. John. {Sijringing up.] And you think 
you have the right to insult me, it seems! 

Bain. Eight! God know^s 1 claim no right of any 
kind over you. Only I ask that this may stop. 
I want to forget my folly and your shame. 

Mrs. St. J. Laurence! Laurence!. [Reseating her- 
self and burying her face in her hands.] 

Bain. Mrs. St. John, you have a husband and a 
child. I don't know w^hether you are happy or 
not in your married life. I do not care if you are 
not. Time brings its revenges. Maybe marriage 
is its revenge upon you. 

Mrs. St. J. Be kinder, Laurence. Ever since 
that day when we parted and I went back to the 
old life, I have been, oh! so unhappy. Mr. St. 
John came. You know how poor I was. He of- 
fered me money— ^freedom. I thought you were 
coming back. I accepted them. 

Bain. One of the most plausible defences of big- 
amy I ever heard! 

Mrs. St. J. Cold and sneering as ever. But just 
tell me that you forgive me. [In broken accents.] 

Bain. There is no question of forgiveness here, 
Mrs. St. John. I take myself absolutely out of 
your way. That is all. 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 19 

Mrs. St. J. I know I wronged you that day, 
Laurence, but I never appreciated you. [Taking 
his hand, which she kisses.] 

Bain. [Laughing.] Appreciated me! Oh, I shall 
hold my tongue, never tear. I don't want to ap- 
pear in a criminal trial, if only as the fool. How 
beautifully it would appear in the speech of the 
State's attorney, ^'Gentlemen of the Jury [Bain 
strikes an attitude, and becomes oratorical], five or 
six years ago, a woman — the w^onmii at the bar — 
[pointing at her] determined to win a man with 
money. She did not scruple at the means to be 
used. She was above conventionalities. She com- 
promised herself, and then — then, gew — " [Enter 
St. J. Fra., and Sowlld. Sowlld. crosses, takes out 
note-book and takes seat ivithout noticing any one. 
Fro. and St. J. stand near entrance]. 

Fra. [Clapping his hands.] As good as any In- 
diana criminal lawyer I ever heard stump speak- 
ing at a barbecue! 

Mrs. St. J. [Going to St. J. and taking him by the 
hand.] I want to introduce to you, dear, an old 
friend, Mr. Bainbridge. Mr. Bainbridge was just 
rehearsing a speech he heard somewhere in Cali- 
fornia. It was so well done! 

St. J. I am very glad to know all my wife^^s 
old friends, Mr. Bainbridge. 

Bain. Thank you, Mr. St. John. How are you, 
Fraiy. I see that you gentlemen are about to talk 
business. [Turning to Mrs. St. J.] I think 1*11 ex- 
cuse myself. 

Mrs. St. J. Business! I detest the very word. 
You see Mr. St. John brings business even into 
my parlors. I'll see you out, Mr. Bainbridge. 
[They retire.] 

St. J. St. J. and Fra. seating themselves, Soivlld. 
at side, writing in note-book.] Before talking busi- 
ness, Mr. Frary, wont you go dow^n into the dining- 
room with me and have some champagne? 

Fra. Champagne, sir, is a liquor admirably calcu- 
lated to inspirit even Job in the midst of his misfor- 
tunes, but for the present, no. You want me to 
tell you about the sources of my income. Well, 
sir, they are the eternal oil-fountains of this planet. 
I am convinced that my wells never will run dry. 
Other men's may — mine, never. 

St. J. Where are they situated? [Taking seat.] 

Fra. In and about Fraropolis, sir. Your not 
familiar with the city? No? Well, it's a place of 



20 A STREAK OF LUCK. 

ten thousand inhabitants; it has theatres, hotels, 
banks, and a daily newspaper, but when I first saw 
the town, it — w^ell, it wasn't delightful. In fact, 
sir, it was the darndest ill-begotten location for a 
town you ever saw\ It was then called Mackerel 
Corner. What in thunder the inhabitants ever 
bestow^ed such a name on their town for, I don't 
know% when there wasn't a mackerel within five 
hundred miles, unless he'd been previously salted; 
but be that as it may, the inhabitants of Mackerel 
Corner never saw the fish, salt or fresh, that gave 
their towm its beautiful name. The whole assem- 
bled township didn't have money enough to buy 
two fins, if mackei'el had been ten cents a barrel, 
for they were the dog-gonedest set of people I ever 
saw. They passed their time cursing their own mis- 
erable existence. They neither had eyes to see, nor 
brains to understand, for they were walking, sir, 
they were walking — -I believe, St. John, I will 
have some champagne. It makes me dry to think 
of it. 

St. J. [Rising and going to bell, ivMch he 
rings,] Certainly. You need it. 

Fra. [Walking up and down and gesticulating. \ 
The infernal fools were walking every day over a 
mine of w^ealth, and they never knew^ it. [Enter 
servant luith tvine. Fra. takes glass and drains it 
at one gulp. Fills his glass again and drinks more.] 
Ah I Yes, sir, they never knew it. The town was 
on a hill-side, and a little further up the hill it was 
springy, and whenever it rained there came out of 
the soil a gummy sort of substance, that made that 
water brackish. They didn't know what it was — I 
did. [Takes more champagne.] Well, when I first 
struck Mackerel Corner I was in the condition of 
Peter at Ephesus — gold and scrip had I none— in 
fact I hadn't even a poor counterfeit. I was busted. 
But I was a handy man, and I did a little of every- 
thing. I did carpenter- work and general chores, 
and I commenced to buy land. You see you could 
buy it for anything. I've mended a cart-wheel for 
a five-acre piece of hillside. That five-acre lot 
stands me in to-day [^reflecting] for a profit of just 
one million three hundred thousand dollars! 

St. J. You don't mean it? 

Fra. I do, sir, for a fact. Well, the neighbors 
thought I was mad. The children used to call me 
^'mad Frary," and set their dogs on me. But I 
minded my business. Finally I thought I. owned 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 21 

enough land, and I began to bore. [Pauses and 
takes another drink.] I worked alone, and it was 
the eleventh day, and noon. All at once, up at the 
top of the shaft, there came a black lot of stuff — 
Great Lord! I think I see it now ! [ Wipes his brow]. 

St. J. It was oil? 

Fra. You're right, sir, and it flowed so strong 
that there were not enough barrels in Mackerel 
Corner — not half enough — to catch it in as it lun, 
and a great deal of the stuff was lost. But the 
neighbors turned out, and before night there wasn't 
a utensil in .that town, fioni a pig's trough to a 
child's pap-bowl, that wasn't filled with oil. To cut 
a long story short, sir, I own to-day sixteen wells in 
and about Fraropolis, and my income from them is 
twenty-five hundred dollars a day. 

St. J. Is it possible? And may I ask how long 
this has been going on? 

Fra. Two years and a half, sir. 

St. J. Do I understand that you are at this mo- 
ment piling up a fortune at this rate? 

Fra. You do, sir. 

St. J. [Rising and taking hand of Fra.] My 
dear sir, I congratulate you. By the side of this 
our paltry little incomes look mean enough. 

Fra. Well, now, sir, I am told that you are the 
smartest man in this city in handling money. I 
want you to handle mine for me. What do you 
say? 

St. J. [Musing for a mo7nent.] It's a great re- 
sponsibility, Mr. Frary. 

Fra. Oh, I'll take my chances with you. 

St. J. Mr. Frary, some of us on the street are 
about embarking in an enterprise that promises re- 
markably well. If you please, beside investing 
your money in it, I can make you the head of the 
concern — its president, or whatever you want to be. 

Fra. What is it? 

St. J. It is the Boundary Upgrade Railroad. The 
road is projected to run from a point on the bound- 
ary line between British America and the United 
States, a little west of Lake Superior, northward to 
Hudson's Bay. It's capital is twenty -five millions. 

Fra. That's moderate. 

St. J. A grant of alternate sections of land along 
the route is given by the Dominion government, 
which the general public understands to be rich in 
copper and silver mines. [Pausing, and stroking 
chin.] Perhaps it's as well for the present to leave 



22 A STREAK OF LUCK. 

the general public with that impression. Then we 
have by our charter the option of two routes, and 
the route which it is generally supposed we shall 
adopt I presume won't be chosen. 

Fra. But isn't that a little tough on the inhabi- 
tants along the line of the road? 

St. J. My dear sir, there are no inhabitants along 
the line of the road. 

Fra. The devil! How do you expect 

St. J. One moment! Mr. Frary, when you have 
been as long in active and leading business as I, you 
w411 know that there are two classes of enterprises 
in this country. The first is for the public benefit. 
This generally beggars the men who first go into it, 
while those who come after them make the money. 
The second is for private benefit. Here the first set 
of men make the money and their successors are 
beggared. 

Fra. And this scheme belongs 

St. J. To the second class, my dear sir. 

Fra. You know -damn it, St. John, the long 

long and short of it is, that I don't want to engage 
in a scheme to scoop the public. What's the use; 
I've got money enough. 

St. J. I beg your pardon, Mr. Frary. On Wall 
street the public is a purely secondary consideration. 
And this is no question of scooping the public, as 
you put it. When the proper time comes we simp- 
ly unload. That is all. It's no question of morals; 
its one of financiering — and a business life of forty 
years has convinced me that morals and financier- 
ing have no connection whatever. But, the ques- 
tion is, will you look into this matter? 

Fra. Well, I'll think of it. 

St. J. By the way, come over with me and dine 
at the club to-night. We'll talk it over. 

Fra. Well, I'll see. [Going toward door .^ 

St. J If 3^ou've no engagement now I'll walk a 
hlock with you. . [Crosses to Sowlld, and in a loiv 
voice.] I think you may write to those parties that 
the thing looks favorably. Do you understand? 

SowLLD. Certainly, sir. [Ex. Fra. and St. J.] 
[Solus] Do I understand? Yes, I should say I did. 
That man treats me like a mere machine, a sort of 
writing apparatus of a higher order. Do I under- 
stand. Well, I fancy, Mr. Henry St. John, there is 
no one of your schemes I don't understand. Ah! 
[looking tJiroiigh open door] Toinette ! I'll not notice 
her. [Resumes, ivriting in note hook.] [Enter 



A STREAK OF LUCk. 23 

Toinett(\ ivho busies herself as if look- 
ing for somethinq on floor. Then Sowlld, not notic- 
ing her, she finally coughs to attract his attention. ~\ 

SowLLD. [Starting up as if astonished.] Ah! 
Toinette, when did you come in? I didn't see you. 

ToiN. Zee'8 ees Monsieur Sole, I helief. 

SowLLD. Yes, my bird; you ought to know. How 
do you hke your place here, Mignonne? [going up 
to her and putting his arm around her iraist.] 

ToiN. Eet ees datestahblel I do not like ze niad- 
ame. She ees cold, distrait. And zen Antoine — 
she has sent away Antoine, because she said— vat 
you call it — he was too intime wiz mel Oh I I will 
pay you for zati I will pay you! 

SowLLD. Ah \ [lea mng Toin.] Happy thought I 
My dear, what would you do if I told you something 
that would put both your master and mistress in 
your power and give you a lot of money — a lot of it? 

ToiN. Monsieur So wild, vat you want of me? 

SowLLD. Oh, be gentle, be gentle, ma chere Toi- 
nette; let me see what kind of a letter you can write.. 
[Tears leaf oid of note-hook and gives Toinette 
pencil. She sits at table, Son-lid looking over her 
shoulder.] 

ToiN. Vat sail I write? 

SowLLD. I'll tell you; write this [d/c^ah'n(/]. Have 
you noticed 



ToiN. Ave you notice 

SowLLD. How intimate your wife is with Law- 
rence Bainbridge 

ToiN. [With animation.] Ah! Ah! Je comprends. 

SowLLD. Question her about her past and present 
relations with him. She will not dare to answer. 
Now let me see how you've written. [Takes note and 
looks at it.] That's very well. The spelling is a lit- 
tle off, but that's so much the better. Now make a 
copy of that in a different writing, if you can. [Toin 
takes paper and writes. After a moment, she gives 
note to Soiulld.] That's capital, Toinette: the devil 
has been very bountiful to you. 

ToiN. Vat you mean by clat? 

SowLLD. Oh, my angel! It isn't necessary for us 
to go into particulars. 

Toin. But how sail I get monee by zis? How sail 
I get monsieur and madame in my powah, eh? 

SowLLD. As for the money [takes bank-note out 
of pocket and gives to her], here's twenty dollars; 
this is only the first instalment. You ought'nt to 
ask that, Toinette, for virtue's it's own reward, you 
know. Now can you get that into the old man's 



24 A STREAK OF LUCK. 

hands without his having any suspicion from whom 
it comes? 

ToiN. Ze ole man? Ah? Monsieur St. Jean. Oui, 
oui; you sail not fear. 

SowLLD. All right, my dear. I rely on that 
finesse which always characterizes the French. 
[Going.] Adieu, my angel! Just a bit of a kiss. 
[kisses her.] Kemember! Twenty dollars a letter, 
and I'll furnish the material. [Aside.] Mrs. St. John, 
we will see whether I'm to remain your husband's 
private secretary or you're to remain his wife, the 
longer. We shall see. [Exit.] 

ToiN. [Standing at table, and thinking]. I will 
leave this in ze conservatoire. Non! Zat will not do. 
Some one in ze niaison would be suspecte. I know. 
[Suddenly]. I will wait till Monsieur walks in ze 
conservatoire and zen trow it in. He will sink some 
one from outside has done it. And I sink he will 
walk dere ver soon, too. Madame, I vill teach you 
not to be so cold and haughty to me, and not to in 
suit me. What if I did know Antoine? Had I not 
ze right? Antohie, mon cher, I vill revenge you? 

St. J. [Entering and seating himself]. At last I'm 
somewhere near the realization of my ambition. 
This man is the easiest caught fish I ever angled 
for. His five millions — two millions of my own — 
seven millions, and all cash! I can say, like Monte 
Cristo in the play, the whole world is mine. [Paus- 
ing]. How heavy the odor of those tube-roses in 
the conservatory is. I'll open one of the windows. 
[Goes back into the conservatory and thi^oivs back 
sliding window. In an instant starts back, as if 
struck by something]. What does this mean? Some 
gamin throwing stones through my windows. 
\^Stoops and picks up note rolled round small pebble]. 
Well upon my honor! [Walking into parlor]. The 
amazing impudence of the thing! I'll see [unrolling 
the note]. Shall one of my servants dares to cor- 
respond with a lover in this way? No address. A 
woman's handwriting. What is this? [Reads). 
" Have you noticed bow intimate your wife is with 
Lawrence Bainbridge? Question her about her past 
and present relations with him. She will not dare 
to answer." Oh no! it can't be. Madeleine would 
never — [Leaning on the table for support]. And 
yet people said there was something between them 
years ago— but no, no, no. My wife untrue to me! 
What folly! i\nd what a fool I am! 

(curtain falls.) 



TABLEAU III. 

AN EVENING CALL. 

Rooms of Laurence Bainhridge on Fifth ave.; at 
side, door opening into bedroom; book-cases; fire- 
place; table C, with studij-lamp; in corner large 
folding -screen; Bain, and Fra. discovered, smok- 
ing. 

Fra. Yes, Bainbridge, the high tides and the low 
tides keep us fresh. I've had more experiences than 
most men. 
Bain. I can swear to one you've had. 
Fra. The bear? Yes, sir [rising and ivalking back 
and forth], mauled almightily I should have been if 
it hadn't been for you and Mortlake, sir. But that 
was a mere episode. I've been everything; second 
mate of a Mississippi steamboat before the war — 
[sighing] — ah! that was the time to live! — end man 
of a minstrel troupe — I played the bones; fighting 
editor on a newspaper, and now a capitalist! Look 
here, Bainhridge, I reckon I must be worth five 
millions of dollars. 

Bain\ Well, Fi-ary, how have you got it invested, 
if you'll pardon the question. 

Fra. Haven't got it invested at all. Most every 
bank in Western Canada is full of it. But I've 
given St. John a power of attorney to invest it. 

Bain. [Starting up in wonder.] You don't mean 
to say that you, a sane man, a shrewd man, have 
given Henry St. John power to handle all your 
money ! 

Fra. I do, sir. I regard him as the smartest man 
in this town, and if he can't do better investing my 
money than I could myself, my name's not Gilead 
W. Fraiy. 

Bain. [Reseating himself.] [Aside.] What a com- 
pound this man is! But haven't you any plans, 
any ideas, for the investment of a certain part of it, 
at least? 

Fra. [Taking seed and lighting , cigar. \ Yes, I 
propose to start a newspaper for one thing. 

Bain. Daily or weekly? 

Fra. Hourly, sir. I'll have an edition every sixty 
minutes, and there shan't a crowned head in Europe 



26 A STREAK OF LIICK. 

cough, or a Western hoosier grow a big number of 
bushels of corn to the acre, that the '^ Universe " — 
that's what I propose to call it — the ^' Universe'^ 
shan't state both facts with absolute impartiality. 

Bain. I should say you might dispose of a million 
and a half to two millions in that. Is there any- 
thing else? 

Fra. Yes, sir, a theater. Frary's Theater shall 
compete with the Fronsay. 

Bain. Indeed! How is your theater to be con- 
ducted? 

Fra. I propose to have two companies. I'll have 
Edwin Booth for leading man of one, and, well, 
some such actor as Fechter for leading man of the 
other. No poor actor or actress shall be allowed in 
either. Salary will be no object with me. I've got 
money enough ; I'm going in for high art. 

Bain. Upon my word your ideas are in proportion 
to the size of your pocket! [Knock at doo7\ Bain, 
rises and admits Mortlake]. 

Fra. My young English aristocrat, how are you ? 
iRising, and taking Mortlake\s hand]. 

MoRT. Not well. Blues. Such devilish weather. 

Fra. Weather! It's heaven itself, sir, compared 
with your damned island. Over there it's ten months 
rain, seven weeks fog and a week of cloudy weather 
every year. But why ain't you at the opera to- 
night ? 

MoRT. [Taking cigar and seating himself.] Want- 
ed to ask Bainbridge 

Fra., [Rising to go\ Which means. "Gilead W. 
Frary, your room for the time is better than your 
company. Clear out." I fly. 

MoRT. No, no! Sta^^. Want your help. 

Fra. Is that all ? Why [taking out check-book], 
how much ? Five hundred ? 

MoRT. Not that, Frary. Many thanks, though; 
want your moral aid. 

Fra. Young man, you shall have it! Anything 
that Gilead W. Frary can do for the aid of one of 
the saviors of his life, he will do. Bet your pile on 
that! What is it, young man ? . 

MoRT. Bainbridge, you know. — 

Bain. Yes, I know, Ronald. You love Phillis. 

Fra. So do I. So does every man that knows 
her. She's fresh as a daisy, and sweet as a tea-rose. 
God bless her! 

MoRT, Thank you, Frary. Knew you'd help me. 

Bain. Ronald, do you think it's fair to ask a young 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 2T 

girl, situated as Phillis has been, to marry you. 
You must consider, my dear boy, how httle of the 
world she knows yet. You may not be the man she 
would choose, after she has been a little more into 
society. 

MoRT. I know. You're right. \ Man ni fully.] 

Bain. Socially, you're everything she could ask 
for; but isn't it fairer to her to wait a year or two, 
Ronald ? 

Fra. Well, now Bainbridge, you can't tell. She's 
as likely to know what she wants now as she ever 
will be. Gentlemen, you can't tell a darned thing 
about a woman I You never knew, I suppose, that I 
used to teach school \puiting legs on tahle\{ I did. 
It was six miles out of Kalamazoo, Michigan, and 
Kalamazoo wasn't at that time the blooming para- 
dise it has since become, I can tell you. Being 
schoolmaster I was district beau, and there was one 
girl I was sweet on particularly. So was Jim Berry. 
Jim was the best man in Kalamazoo at a rough and 
tumble, and one morning, just as I'd got through 
reading the Bible to 'em I saw him standing in the 
door. I knew what that meant. It meant a row. 
Jim looked at me a minute ; said he, " Phemie Kel- 
ler " — that was the girl we were both courting — 
''Phemie Keller sent me down here to thrash you. 
She says you've insulted her." ''Jim Berry," I said, 
"you're a liar, and this is a public school-house. 
Get out !" Quicker than a flash he was at me. Well, 
it took me fifteen minutes to complete that contract, 
and it was the toughest job I ever did. You couldn't 
tell one of us from the other half the time. When 
it was over I found myself arrayed in a state of na- 
ture and the tattered -remnants of a long-tailed gray 
coat. That was all. Now the details of this fight 
don't seem to have much to do with the matter in 
hand, but what I'm coming at is, that Phemie Kel- 
ler really did send him dou^n to thrash me, but for 
all that she married me before a year was over — 
and was as good a wife— well, boys, we'll pass that 
[dashing hand across eyes]. 

MoRT. You're right, Bainbridge. I'll wait. Only 
give me a fair held, then. 

Baix. [Putting hand on Mort.'s shoidder]. You 
know, Ronald, you needn't ask that. If it were my 
choice, alone, you know what the answer would be. 

Fra. Now, boys, don't get sentimental. Don't I 
Come with me and try the cheering effect of a little 
of Mr. Delmonico's champagne [Rising and moving 
towards the door]. 



24 A STREAK OF LUCK. 

hands without his having any suspicion from whom 
it comes? 

ToiN. Ze ole man? Ah? Monsieur St. Jean. Oui, 
oui; you sail not fear. 

SowLLD. All right, my dear. I rely on that 
finesse which always characterizes the French. 
[Going.] Adieu, my angel! Just a bit of a kiss. 
[kisses her.] Eememberl Twenty dollars a letter, 
and I'll furnish the material. [Aside.] Mrs. St. John, 
Ave will see whether I'm to remain your husband's 
private secretary or you're to remain his wife, the 
longer. We shall see. [Exit.] 

ToiN. [Standing at table, and thinking]. I will 
leave this in ze conservatoire. Non! Zat will not do. 
Some one in ze maison would be suspecte. I know. 
[Suddenly]. I will wait till Monsieur walks in ze 
conservatoire and zen trow^ it in. He will sink some 
one from outside has done it. And I sink he w411 
walk dere ver soon, too. Madame, I vill teach you 
not to be so cold and haughty to me, and not to in 
suit me. What if I did know Antoine? Had I not 
ze rights Antohie, mon cher, I vill revenge you? 

St. J. [Entering and seating himself]. At last I'm 
somewhere near the realization of my ambition. 
This man is the easiest caught fish I ever angled 
for. His five millions — two millions of my own — 
seven millions, and all cash! I can say, like Monte 
Cristo in the play, the whole world is mine. [Paus- 
ing]. How heavy the odor of those tube-roses in 
the conservatory is. I'll open one of the windows. 
[Goes hack into the conservatory and thi^ows hack 
sliding ivindoiv. In an instant starts hack, as if 
struck hy something]. What does this mean? Some 
gamin throwing stones through my windows. 
[Stooj)s and picks up note rolled round small pebble]. 
Well upon my honor! [Walking into parlor]. The 
amazing impudence of the thing! I'll see [unrolling 
the note]. Shall one of my servants dares to cor- 
respond with a lover in this way? No address. A 
woman's handwriting. What is this? [Beads). 
" Have you noticed bow intimate your wife is with 
Lawrence Bainbridge? Question her about her past 
and present relations with him. She will not dare 
to answer." Oh no! it can't be. Madeleine would 
never — [Leaning on the table for support]. And 
yet people said there was something between them 
years ago— but no, no, no. My wife untrue to me! 
What folly! And what a fool I am! 

(curtain falls.) 



TABLEAU IIL 

AN EVENING CALL. 

Rooms of Laurence Bainhridge on Fifth ave.; at 
side, door opening into hedrooin; hook-cases; fire- 
place; table C, with study-lamp; in corner large 
folding -screen; Bain, and Fra. discovered, smok- 
ing. 

Fra. Yes, Bainbridge, the high tides and the low 
tides keep us fresh. I've had more experiences than 
most men. 

Bain. I can swear to one you've had. 
Fra. The bear? Yes, sir [rising and tvalking hack 
and forth], mauled almightily I should have been if 
it hadn't been for you and Mortlake, sir. But that 
was a mere episode. I've been everything; second 
mate of a Mississippi steamboat before the war — 
[sighing]—Sihl that was the time to live! — end man 
of a minstrel troupe — I played the bones; fighting 
editor on a newspaper, and now a capitalist! Look 
here, Bainbridge, I reckon I must be worth five 
millions of dollars. 

Bain\ Well, Fj-ary, how have you got it invested, 
if you'll pardon the question. 

Fra. Haven't got it invested at all. Most every 
bank in Western Canada is full of it. But I've 
given 8t. John a power of attorney to invest it. 

Bain. [Starting up) in wonder.] You don't mean 
to say that you, a sane man, a shrewd man, have 
given Henry St. John power to handle all your 
money ! 

Fra. I do, sir. I regard him as the smartest man 
in this town, and if he can't do better investing my 
money than I could myself, my name's not Gilead 
W. Frary. 

Bain. [Reseating himself.] [Aside.] What a com- 
pound this man is! But haven't you any plans, 
any ideas, for the investment of a certain part of it, 
at least? 

Fra. [Taking seat and lighting , cigar.] Yes, I 
propose to start a newspaper for one thing. 

Bain. Daily or weekly? 

Fra. Hourly, sir. I'll have an edition every sixty 
minutes, and there shan't a crowned head in Europe 



26 A STREAK OF LIICK. 

cough, or a Western hoosier grow a big number of 
bushels of corn to the acre, that the " Universe " — 
that's what I propose to call it — the '' Universe" 
shan't state both facts with absolute impartiality. 

Bain. I should say you might dispose of a million 
and a half to two millions in that. Is there any- 
thing else? 

Fra. Yes, sir, a theater. Frary's Theater shall 
compete with the Fronsay. 

Bain. Indeed! How is your theater to be con- 
ducted? 

Fra. I propose to have two companies. I'll have 
Edwin Booth for leading man of one, and, well, 
some such actor as Fechter for leading man of the 
other. No poor actor or actress shall be allowed in 
either. Salary will be no object with me. I've got 
money enough ; I'm going in for high art. 

Bain. Upon my word your ideas are in proportion 
to the size of your pocket ! \ Knock at doo7\ Bain. 
rises and admits Mortlake]. 

Fra. M}^ young English aristocrat, how are you ? 
[Rising, and taking Mortlake^s hand]. 

MoRT. Not well. Blues. Such devilish weather. 

Era. Weather! It's heaven itself, sir, compared 
with your damned island. Over there it's tej] months 
rain, seven weeks fog and a week of cloudy weather 
every year. But why ain't you at the opera to- 
night ? ■ 

MoRT. [Taking cigar and seating himself.] Want- 
ed to ask Bainbridge 

Era., [Rising to go]. Which means. "Gilead W. 
Frary, your room for the time is better than your 
company. Clear out." I fly. 

MoRT. No, no! Sta;^. Want your help. 

Era. Is that all ? Why [taking out check-hook], 
how much ? Five hundred ? 

MoRT. Not that, Frary. Many thanks, though; 
want your moral aid. 

Era. Young man, you shall have it! Anything 
that Gilead W. Frary can do for the aid of one of 
the saviors of his life, he will do. Bet your pile on 
that! What is it, young man ? . 

MoRT. Bainbridge, you know. — 

Bain. Yes, I know, Eonald. You love Phillis. 

Era. So do I. So does every man that knows 
her. She's fresh as a daisy, and sweet as a tea-rose. 
God bless her! 

MoRT. Thank you, Frary. Knew you'd help me. 

Bain. Ronald, do you think it's fair to ask a young 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 2T 

girl, situated as Phillis has been, to marry you. 
You must consider, my dear boy, how httle of the 
world she knows yet. You may not be the man she 
would choose, after she has been a little more into 
society. 

MoRT. I know. You're right. [Mounifally.] 

Bain. Socially, you're everything she could ask 
for; but isn't it fairer to her to wait a year or two, 
Ronald ? 

Fra. Well, now Bainbridge, you can't tell. She's 
as likely to know what she wants now as she ever 
will be. Gentlemen, you can't tell a darned thing 
about a woman! You never knew, I suppose, that I 
used to teach school [putting legs on tahleXi I did. 
It was six miles out of Kalamazoo, Michigan, and 
Kalamazoo wasn't at that time the blooming para- 
dise it has since become, I can tell you. Being 
schoolmaster I was district beau, and there was one 
girl I was sweet on particularly. So was Jim Berry. 
Jim was the best man in Kalamazoo at a rough and 
tumble, and one morning, just as I'd got through 
reading the Bible to 'em I saw him standing in the 
door. I knew what that meant. It meant a row. 
Jim looked at me a minute ; said he, " Phemie Kel- 
ler " — that was the girl we were both courting — 
''Phemie Keller sent me down here to thrash you. 
She says you've insulted her." ''Jim Berry," I said, 
"you're a liar, and this is a public school-house. 
Get out !" Quicker than a flash he was at me. Well, 
it took me fifteen minutes to complete that contract, 
and it was the toughest job I ever did. You couldn't 
tell one of us from the other half the time. When 
it was over I found myself arrayed in a state of na- 
ture and the tattered -remnants of a long-tailed gray 
coat. That was all. Now the details of this fight 
don't seem to have much to do with the matter in 
hand, but what I'm coming at is, that Phemie Kel- 
ler really did send him down to thrash me, but for 
all that she married me before a year was over — 
and was as good a wife— well, boys, we'll pass that 
\dashing liand across eyes]. 

MoRT. You're right, Bainbridge. I'll wait. Only 
give m.e a fair field, then. 

Bain. [Patting hand on Mort.'s shoulder]. You 
know, Ronald, you needn't ask that. If it were my 
choice, alone, you know what the answer would be. 

Fra. Now, boys, don't get sentimental. Don't ! 
Come with me and try the cheering effect of a little 
of Mr. Delmonico's champagne [Rising and moving 
toivards the door\. 



28 A STREAK OF LUCK/ 

MoRT. [Also rising.] I'll go with you. Won't you 
come, Laurence? 

Bain. You'll have to excuse me to-night. I've 
some correspondence to attend to. 

MoRT. Well, good night. [Ex. Bain, seats him- 
self at table, takes pen and commences to turn over 
papers.] 

Bain. What a strange man ! But with a heart 
like a purse of gold. I don't like his getting into St. 
John's clutches. Yet St. John, they say, is honest. 

He will use [listening]. Was that a woman's 

step I thought I heard in the hall ? It's Madeleine's ! 
[Half rises and listens.] No, Madeleine wouldn't 
have the hardihood, or he so foolish as to come here. 
What a devil she is ! Cold as an icicle in her love 
for me and in her crimes, she is the same still, and 
yet she pursues me with the fury of a very Sappho 
[starting]. Again ! I must see what that can be. 
[Rises and moves toivard door. It opens and enter 
Mrs. St. J. in cloak and hood. She throws them hack.] 
What madness is this, Madeleine? Have you quite 
lost your senses, that you come to my rooms alone 
at night? 

Mrs. St. J. I don't knoAv, and I don't want to 
know, Lawrence. I don't care, and I don't want to 
care. You wrote me to-day, saying that you would 
not call at my house again. Why did you write ? 
I've come to ask you. 

Bain. I wrote to save your name from scandal, 
Mrs. St. John. People will say 

Mrs. St. J. What do I care what people will say? 
Years ago you showed me what you were. You 
shall never repeat that, Lawrence Bainbridge. 

Bain. The woman is stark, staring mad. [Seats 
himself at table, resting head on hands.] 

Mrs. St. J. There is method enough in my mad- 
ness at least, Lawrence, to keep you from one thing. 
I have lost you, but no other woman shall win you, 
I swear. 

Bain. Now I recognize the angelic sweetness that' 
always characterized Mrs. St. Johu. Keep on. This 
thing becomes you greatly. 

Mrs. St. J. [Standing at his shoidder.] You in- 
sult me, but you don't answer me. I say that no 
other woman shall have you. 

Bain. [Starting up] My God, Madeleine, what do 
you mean by that. You ought to know — you, better 
than anyone else, that it is impossible for any other 
woman to have me, as you say. I — oh I was a fool, 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 29 

but I'm willing to bear on my own shoulders the 
burden of your shame, and never to speak. But 
one thing I command of you, that once and for all 
you cease this persecution. I have right enough 
over you to at least say that. 

Mrs. St. J. Once more we have been fiiends; and 
I have gotten to look to you for that ai)preciation 
denied me by my- -by Mr. St. John. You shall not 
desert me again. 

Bain. And therefore I am to continue coming to 
your house till all the world cries out. 

Mrs. St. J. I care nothing for your comings or 
goings — but I know — oh, I know the reason of all 
this solicitude about my good name — a name you 
never cared for. 

Bain. More than you ever did yourself. 

Mrs. St.* J. It is Phillis Lamont. I saw it from 
the very first. You shall never marry her. Be sure 
of that. 

Bain. Jealousy! After all this woman has done 
she is actually jealous. [Laughs.] 

Mrs. St. J. Laugh if you please, but I tell 
you 

Bain'. [Grasping her arm.] Hark! there is some 
one coming up-stairs. Perhaps he's coming here. 
Step behind that screen. [She steps behind screen. 
Bain, seats himself at table. Knocking.] 

Bain. Come in. [Enter St. J.] 

St. J. I — I thought I'd come up and see you to- 
night, Bainbridge ? Are you quite alone ? 

Bain. As you see, Mr. St. John [turns down study - 
lamp and adjusts shade] As you see, and what gives 
me the pleasure of this late call from you ? 

St. J. I thought I would come — I wanted to tell 
you— 

Bain. I am alw^ays glad to see you, Mr. St. John, 
when Wall street can spare you to us. I have [look- 
ing at watch] an engagement in five minutes, but 
I'm delighted to chat with you a moment. 

St. J. An engagement, eh? A lady, perhaps. 

Bain. Yes, you're right. A lady. 

St. J. Well, I wanted to talk to you about a lady, 
too. About my wife. 

Bain. Ah, indeed; about Mrs. St. John. Well, 
my dear sii', I'll answer very frankly any question I 
can about Mrs. St. John, but I don't really see what 
in the world I can tell you. 

St. J. You've known my wife for a long time? 

Bain. Eight years. 



30 A STREAK OF LUCK. 

St. J. Yes, yes. Old friends. And, I think, they 
said at one time you thought 

Bain. At one time, Mr. St. John, I thought— but 
no matter what I thought; its all over now. That 
was eight years ago. 

St. J. And there was nothing in it? 

Bain. My dear sir, how could there be? 

St. J. Of course, of course. You will think it 
very strange, my asking you these questions, but 
I've been very much troubled lately, I have been 
receiving anonymous notes 

Bain. Anonymous notes I Good heavens, about 
what? 

St. J. Here they are. [Taking notes out of coat 
pocket.'] I'll read them. The first is [reading] : 
" Have you noticed how intimate your wife is with 
Lawrence Bainbridge? Question her abotit her past 
and present relations with him. She will not dare 
to answer." That's the first. [Gives 7} ote to Bain.] 
Here's the second: "Your wife gets thicker and 
thicker with Lawrence Bainbridge every day. 
You're a fool that you don't see it. Ask her about 
their secret." Now you know I estimate anony- 
mous notes at their true value, but — I'm very proud 
of my wife, and 

Bain. I understand, sir; any man would act as 
you do. 

St. J. I think the best thing, without saying any- 
thing to Madeleine, who must never suspect any- 
thing ' 

Bain. Never suspect 

St. J. Would be for you to be a little less frequent 
in your visits, and-^ 

Bain. Mr. St. John, I'm sure nobody suspects 
what you know to be an absurdity, but I'm very 
sorry for having innocently put you in a position 
where you're the prey of some anonymous black- 
mailer, and from this moment, I assure you, you 
shall have no cause to complain of me. I wish —I 
wish Mrs. St. John ^s^'^ere present to hear me say it. 

St. J. And so do I. [Rising and taking hand of 
Bain.] It's a very kind thing for you to take this 
talk of mine so sensibly. I appreciate it Bain- 
bridge. 

Bain. Not at all, St. John. I understand you. 

St. J. I have to keep her name and my honor free 
from suspicion, of course. Caesar's wife, you know. 
But [rising] I won't bore you in this way. [Look- 
ing around.] Snug quarters you have here, eh? 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 31 

Bain. Yes; would you like to look into the bed- 
room? [They go to the bedroom door and look in. ^ 
Can he suspect something? \aside.^^ 

St. J. Very pleasant and cosy. The screen, I 
suppose— — 

Baix. Oh, that conceals something- that used to 
be very dear to me, but it is so no longer. 

St. J. Yes, yes, I see. Mementoes of the past. 
Well, Bainbridge, we bury our illusions one by one. 

Bain. Yes, indeed we do. 

St. J. Now you understand I have no jealousy at 
all, Bainbridge, merely 

Bain. Quite right, Mr. St. John, I see. 

St. J. And this secret ? But what nonsense ! Of 
course there can be no secret at all. I'm a fool. 
[Laughing. ^^ 

Bain. None at all. Question Mrs. St. John, if you 
choose, when you get home. She will tell you there 
is none. 

St. J. Certainly, certainly, but I've kept you from 
your engagement too long. Good night. No, you 
need not come down with me. Good night. [Exit 
St. J.] 

Bain. [Going to screen and throwing it back.] 
Mrs. St. John, I hope you are fully satisfied now 
with your work ! [Assisting her to rise and helping 
her to chair.] And in God's name how is it that 
anybody knows enough of all this to write about 
our secret. Can you tell ? 

Mrs. St. J. Oh no, oh no ! I cannot. , No one 
knew it except Janet, my maid, and she is dead. 
Who could it have been ? 

Bain. No matter who it was, its now necessary 
for you and I to be at arm's length hereafter. Your 
husband had his suspicions of something when he 
looked over these rooms. Now you must go, do 
you understand, so that you may be at home when 
he gets there. Come ! [Goes up to her.] What ! 
she's fainted I She has a little feeling, then ! 

(curtain falls.) 



TABLEAU IV. 

THE STORY OF A SECRET. 

Garden of Mrs. SuncUffe^s house at Englewood, 
Frary^ Mrs. Sun. and Phil, discovered. Phil, 
sitting on bench arranging bouquet. 

Fra. So you didn't know I'd been an actor? 

Mrs. S. No. When was it? 

Fra. It was a long while ago, in Vincennes, In- 
diana. I played Polonius, in Hamlet. You see the 
Mayor, a man by the name of Bill Skillings, had an 
ambition to play something and the corporation 
tendered him a public benefit. First, he thought 
he'd play Eicheloo, but finally he struck on Hamlet. 
I tell you, Madame, that was a soul inspiring spec- 
tacle 

Phil. What was? 

Fra. Oh, the whole thing. You see the corpora- 
tion attended the show in a body, and behind them 
was the fire brigade in uniform. The house was 
crammed. Behind the fire brigade sat the citizens 
in full dress. Well, ladies, we began. I never could 
understand it, but that corporation laughed. They 
laughed at Hamlet. They laughed at the ghost, 
they laughed at me — [Phil, and 3Irs. Sun. laugh\ 
and youVe laughing just as they did. Now why is 
that? That entertainment might have done credit to 
the Metropolitan boards. But the audience hadn't 
any more sense of what was fine acting than a lot 
of sheep lookmg through a fence on a western 
prairie. 

Phil. Perhaps your acting was too good for 
them. 

Fra. That was it, Miss Phillis, that was it. They 
didn't comprehend us, and the thing finally ended 
by the fire department uncoupling their machine 
and throwing two streams of water on the stage. 
We hadn't contracted to play Noah, and so we ad- 
journed that entertainment. 

Mrs. S. I wish I could have been there, Mr. 
Frary. 

Fra. I wish you had, Madame. Ah [catching 
sight of Humphrey Noivark and Lucius Nowark, 
who enter] here are Montezuma and Apotheosis. 
Good day, boys, good day. 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 33 

H. and L. N. [in same breath.] Good afternoon, 
ladies. Good afternoon, patron. [They talk with 
ladies.] 

Fra. [Aside.] The devilish bores! Madame [to 
Mrs. Sim.] You have'nt shown me those — what is 
it — cactuses yet. 

Mrs. S. Come now, Mr. Frary. [Moving off 
stage.] 

li. N. [Aside.] The very opportunity! [Aloud.] 
I will accompany you. I always had a weakness 
for cacti. 

Fra. Oh Lord! [Ex. Mrs. S., Frary and H. W.] 

L. N. [Seating him. self by side of Phil.] Miss 
Lamont — may I call you Phillis? 

Phil. Certainly, Mr. Lucius, if you wish to. 
[Aside.] What in the world can he be going to do 
now? 

L. N. My brother and I have come to speak to you 
about a very important matter Miss Phillis. 

Phil. Indeed, Mr. Lucius, and what may that 
be? 

L. N. My brother Humphrey — my brother Hum- 
phrey — Phillis. — 

Phil. Is he [lauyhing'^ still at work, Mr. Lucius? 

L. N. He's absolutely crushed 'neath the weight 
of toil, Philhs. 

Phil. Oh, I'm so sorry to know he's crushed, Mr. 
Lucius. He didn't looked crushed when he left us 
a moment ago. 

L. N. Yesterday, Phillis, — oh my sw^eet sister — I 
may almost call you so — Humphrey told me a 
secret. I will tell it to you. 

Phil. But perhaps it wouldn't be right, Mr. Lu- 
cius, for you to tell Mr. Humphrey's secret. 

L. N. Oh, Phillis, this concerns you. 

Phil. Concerns me? Why how can that be? 

L. N. My brother Humphrey — a noble fellow is 
Humphre}^, Phillis — loves you with all the ardent 
love of that at once artistic and devotional tempera- 
ment. 

Phil. Does he? You mean he likes me very 
much? I'm glad of that. 

L. N. You're glad! So glad! May I, may I bid 
him hope? 

Phil. Bid him hope? Why of course you may. 
Mr. Dyson used to say that hope was everything in 
this world. 

L. N. [Taking her hands]. Phillis, you will make 
Humphrey the happiest of men. He brings you 



34 A STREAK OF LUCK. 

the devotion of a virgin heart. Let me hasten to 
call him here, that he may know the joy that 
awaits him. [Turyis to go, and just as he retires, en- 
counters H. N. entering]. 

Phil. What can all this mean? 

L. N. [Aside to H. N. clasping his hands]. 
Brother, she is yours. Go and take her. 

H. N. No, yours, brother. I surrender my claim. 
[Ex. L. N.l 

[Humphrey advances]. What a charming sight! 
Youth, beauty and simplicity! 

Phel. He's coming to tell me that Lucius adores 
me. 

H. N. You are happy here, Miss Phillis? 

Phil. Of course I am. Aren't you? 

H. N. Yes, yes, the artist is happy with every 
bit of sunshine, but the poet — Miss Phillis, dear 
Miss Phillis, my brother is not happy. I came to 
speak of him. 

Phil. [With a sigh]. I thought so. [Aside]. Oh, 
dear. 

H. N. Lucius is a noble fellow. His life ought 
to be lightened by some influence hke yours. And 
he has a secret. 

Phil. Yes? 

H. N. Lucius, my dear Miss Phillis, adores the 
smallest speck of earth on which even the shadow 
of a ribbon attached to your dress has fallen. 

Phil. That's so good of him. I thought you 
were going to say that. 

H. N. You thought so! And he may hope? Oh, 
what a poetic devotion shall be yours. 

Phil. [Rising]. Well! Now we've had enough of 
devotion, and secrets and all that. Let's be real! 
Come. Let's find Aunt Agatha. [Moves aivay, H. 
N. following, and just as she is about to retire, en- 
ter Mortlake]. Oh Jack, I'm so glad to see you. 

H. N. Ah, a rival of Lucius. I must go and tell 
him. [Exit]. 

MoRT. I'm glad to see you, Phil. 

Phil. What shall I do to entertain you? Shall I 
play to you, shall we talk 

MoRT. Yes, we'll talk, Phil. 

Phil. Jack, you don't look happy; what's the 
matter? 

MoRT. Nothing; nothing. Might have expected 
it. 

Phil. What is it Jack; tell me? Let's sit here. 
[Sitting down.] 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 35 

MoRT. Don't know how to te?l you. Don't see 
how I can begin. 

Phil. Oh, begin somehow, Jack. 

McRT. Yesterday I had a talk with Bainbridge 
about — about you, you know; and he wants me 
to see you less — not to come here so often. 

Phil. But why, Jack? 

MoRT. That I can't tell you. You know I've been 
wrong* from the start. Oughtn't to have come here 
so much. 

Phil. But why not. Jack? What's wrong about 
it? You know, if you tell me, that will be worth all 
the rest. 

MoRT. Why, can't you see Phil, you dear girl, 
that — I love you. 

Phil. But I know all about that, Jack. 

MoRT. No, child; you don't know anything about 
it. It's not the love you have for other people I 
mean. 

Phil. Tell me — tell me. Jack, if it's like this sort 
of feeling I have for you; I can't sometimes sleep 
thinking of you; I think of you all the time, Jack, 
and if you don't come here as you have — I think I 
shall die, really I do. 

MoRT. Phil, darling, I believe — I know you love 
me; dear little girl, the first time I ever saw you — 
do you remember — you gave me a bunch of violets. 
They've all faded and withered now, but I've kept 
them, Phil, because you gave them to me. Darling, 
let me care for you, just as I've cared for them, 
won't you? 

Phil. You're so good, Jack 

MoRT. No, Phil; when you know more of .the 
world you'll see that I'm not good, that I'm not 
strong as you think me, but I will care for you so 

tenderly, dear 

• Phil. Oh, I know it, Jack. I know you will. I 
don't want to know any more of the world than I 
do now. Jack, you can have me if you want me. 
[Patting her hand to her eyes.~\ 

MoRT. [Kissing her.] Oh, Phil, I'm the happiest 
fellow in the world. [Re-enter Fra. and Mrs. Sun. 
Frary talking in dumb show. As he catches sight 
of Mort. and. Phillis he raises his voice.] 

Fra. So I said to him, St. John, you're a fool*; 
I know your wife does not care about him, and as for 
Bainbridge, there's not a more honorable fellow in 
the world." [Appearing to see Phil, and Mori, for 
the first time.] Why, my dear, I believe you've 



36 A STREAK OF LUCK. 

been crying! [^Turning to Mort. and j^utiing hand 
on his shoulder.) Young man, perhaps it's none of 
my business, but if you don't treat this httle girl as 
she deserves to be treated — and that's as gently as 
you'd treat a delicate flower^ — you deserve — Mis& 
Phillis, of course he will, [taking her hands and look- 
ing at her] for we all fall in love with you at first 
sight. [Phil, disengages herself and runs to Mrs. 
San.. They walk ay:ay.] No wonder you look 
sheepish, young man. She's as much better than 
you are, as an angel is better than one of Satan's 
imps. 

Mort. 1 know it Frary; I know it. But where 
have they gone. [Fra. sits on bench.] 

Fra. Oh, follow them. [Exit Mort.] Now there's 
a young fellow going the way of all flesh. 
Well, I've been there myself, and candor 
compels me to state that the condi- 
tion is not without its pleasures as well as its 
pains. It's hke wearing a pair of new boots, very 
pleasing to the understanding, but hurting one's 
feelings more or less all the time. [Pausing a mo- 
nient.] I wonder if St. John was drunk. He acted 
as if he was. Talked about notes, and insisted on 
seeing Bainbridge. Bainbridge can't have been 
giving St. John notes for discount. What does he 
^^ant to borro^v money for? The thing is queer. He 
must have been tight. But I never saw him drink 
anything to speak of. [Enter Bainbridge.] 

Bain. Well, Frary, what are you musing about? 

Fra. There's something the matter with St. John. 
He don't seem to have any more sense than a Mis- 
souri exhorter with a bad attack of chills. He seems 
dazed, somehow. 

Bain. What do you mean? I saw him last night 
and he was certainly all right then. 

Fra. He talks about notes, and Bainbridge. Have 
you been borrowing money of him? Why didn't 
you come to me? 

Bain. Notes? Ah! I see. Frary, some devil has 
been writing the man anonymous letters, charging 
his wife and me — 

Fra. [Starting up.] The damned scoundrel! 
Can't you tell who it is? 

Bain. Of course I can't. I'd wring his neck if I 
could. 

Fra. Now I understand his asking me if I'd ever 
noticed anything strange about his wife's manner 
when she was with you. [Starting tip.] Bainbridge, 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 37 

I'm going over to New York and straighten tliis 
thing out. I beheve, sir, that this thing's affecting 
his head. I'll go this minute? All my money — [Ex. 
Frary.] 

Bain. I wonder who the writer of those notes can 
be. How can they know that strange history? And 
can St. John's brain be affected? Nonsense! Frary 'a 
scared, that's all. ^Re-enter Phil.] 

Phil. I want to tell you something, Mr. Bain- 
bridge. 

Bain. Well, come here and tell it, Phillis. l^'hey 
seat themselves on bench.] Now, what is it, my 
dear? 

Phil. [Hentatingly.] About Jack Mortlake. 

Bain. Yes, Phil. My dear, you're very young. 
You know nothing of the world. Don't you think, 
now^, that you'd better wait awhile. 

Phil. Oh, but I just promised. 

Bain. No matter. Jack is a gentleman. He'll 
give you back your promise, I know. [Phil shakes 
her head.] No? But are you sure of yourself? Are 
you sure you love him? 

Phil. I can tell you, can't I, without being- 
ashamed? I think of him all the time, I pray for him 
every night, when he's away from me I want him 
near me, w^hen he's with me I can't bear to have 
him go 

Bain. Wait, Phil. I'll tell the rascal he may 
come when he pleases, and marry you to-morrow, 
if he wants to. 

Phil. Oh, you make me so happy. I'm sure Jack 
wiU thank you. [Starts to go.] Let me go and tell 
him. 

Bain. Oh I the beggar is here, is he? Phillis, Jack 
Mortlake's a happy man. Frary says we all love 
you at first sight, and I think its a fact. I'm so old, 
you know, and Jack — [clearing his throat]. But 
nobody could be near you yery long without loving 
you. Well, Phil., just give me a kiss, because I'm 
your guardian, you know, and then you shall go and 
find Jack. [She stoojjs and kisses him, then turns 
to go, ivhen later, behind them — Mrs. St. John.] 

Mrs. St. J. Stop! [to Phil] You shall not go now. 
Wait and hear w^hat I have got to say first. 

Bain. Madeleine 1 [Starts up.] 

Mrs. St. J. Phillis Lamont, you dare to make 
love to this man before my very eyes! You shall 
know our secret. [Enter St. John, who conceals 
himself behind shrubbery.] 



38 A STREAK OF LUCK. 

Bain. Be careful, Madeleine. Eemember, its not 
our secret — it's your own. 

St. J. [Apjjearing for a inoment.] Ah I her secret. 
I shall know it — I shall know it. 

Mrs. St. J. I shall not be careful, Lawrence. I 
told you, you remember, that you should make 
love to no other woman while I lived, and you shall 
not. [Turning to Phil., ivho stands near Bain. ~\ 
Phillis Lamont, this man,, who tells you he loves 
you, w^ho takes you in his arms and kisses you, this 
excellent match, whom you're trying to ensnare, 
is 

Bain. Madeleine! 

Mrs. St. J. Is my husband. We were married six 
years ago, privately. But he is my husband, and 
only a few days after our marriage he left me. We 
quarreled. 

BA.iy. Yes, Mrs. St. John, I think I would men- 
tion that fact. We quarreled. You were a devil 
then; you're a devil now! 

Mrs. St. J. He used cruel language to me; then 
he left me. He gave me back my liberty. 

Bain. Phillis, you will not understand all this; 
but let me tell you. We were married; we quar- 
reled; we separated, agreeing that things should be 
the same as they were before this marriage, which 
was really no marriage. She was to have her lib- 
erty. I went abroad. Then I found that my wife 
had indeed used the liberty I gave her in the widest 
sense. She had married again. I came here, be- 
cause I thought that chapter of our lives was closed. 
My God, why hadn't I stayed away! 

Mrs. St. J. He is my husband still. I claim him 
now. I Avant him now. Laurence, this girl can't 
love you as I do. You are mine; mine you shall 
stay. Can't it be so? [After an instant.^ You 
make no answer. Laurence, Laurence, forgive 
me. Take me away; I never loved anyone but 
you, never anyone but you. [She falls on her knees.] 
Let me go with you, where you go. We'll go out 
of everyone's sight, we two. Oh, Laurence, take 
me back. My husband cares for nothing but his 
money-bags. I'll leave him; you are my real hus- 
band. Take me, Laurence. [Sobbing. Enter St. 
John, who tvalks sloivly and uncertainly to her and 
bends over tier]. You here ? [to St. Jo1in\ And 
you have heard wiiat I said ? That is true. What 
I have told is true. He [pointing to Bain] is my 
husband. My life with you has been all a lie. 
Stand back [rising] and let me go to my husband. 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 39 

St. J. [Grasping cor) ler of be} ich for supjjort]. Is 
that — [putting hand to forehead.] Let me think. 
What did I want to pay ? Oh! Mr. Bainhridge, is 
what my w , what this woman has said, true 'i 

Bain. It is true, so help me, God, St. John; but I 
never thought that you would know it. 

St. J. Then — why, those notes were true — [coni- 
mences to laugh.] iVnd I thought you were of ice 
[to Mrs St. John], so cold, so pure! Oh, some night 
when I was sleei3ing beside you, why didn't you — 
[commences to laugh again]. I forgot! We don't 
do that sort of thing now-a-days. [Putting hand to 
forehead again.] My head's on fire! Madeline, I — • 
I leave you. [Turns, and after taking a step or tivo, 
falls. All rush fortvard.] 

Bain. Let him have a chance to breathe. 
Eun for some water, Phil. He'll be better in 
a moment. [Phil, runs out.] Ah! what's this 
note crushed in his hand? [Reads.] "You're a 
worse fool than ever. Your wife was hid in Bain- 
bridge's rooms last night while you were there." 
Damnation! [To Mrs. St. J.] Do you hear that? 
[Reenter Phil, and Mort.]. 

Mrs. St. J. Why doesn't he get better? What 
is it? 

Bain. What is it? [After a moment.] Do you 
know what you've done? It's death! 

Curtain Falls. 



TABLEAU V. 

A STREAK OF LUCK. 

Same as Tab. fii^st. The twins discovered asleep 
as before. 

H. N. Why! I've been asleep! [Stretching.^ 

L, A. Why! So have I! That's strange! How 
could it have happened, brother? [Stretching]. 

H. X. Mental strain, brother Lucius, that sever- 
est of all labors, the labor of a poet, causes this 
lapse into the arms of Morpheus! Do you know, 
brother — what do you say [going to closet and tak- 
ing bottle and glass] to a little iuAagoration? 

L.N. I say, yes. Old Tom? Good! [Takes 
bottle and glass, and drinks.] Ah! [Handing them 
to N. H., ivho ch'inks.] This has been an eventful 
season for us, Humphrey. 

H. N. It has indeed, brother. 

L. N. You, Humphrey, have engaged yourself to 
be married. 

H. N. I beg your pardon, Lucius, it is you who 
are engaged. 

L. N. I am not, Humphrey. It is you who are 
engaged to Phillis Lament. I am astonished at 
your wildness of statement. 

H. N. Well now, Lucius, be reasonable. One or 
the other of us is certainly engaged. It can't be 
me. I proposed to the lady in your behalf, and she 
accepted you. 

L. N. You labor, brother, under an entire misap- 
prehension. I proposed for you, and you were ac- 
cepted. I told her you brought to her a virgin 
heart. I told her you loved her as you loved the 
sunbeams of your pictures — which look as if they 
were painted in mud! [Gesticulating]. 

H. N. I told her you were crushed with the 
weight of toil, but that toil was for her. I told her 
you loved her as you loved the creations of your 
poems — that you can't find a publisher for; and that 
read as if they were written by a journeyman wood- 
chopper. [Gesticulating]. 

D. N. Humphrey! 

H. N. Lucius! 

L. N. Will you act like a man, and marry the 
girl? 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 41 

H. N. Will you do your duty, and espouse Phillis 
Lamont? 

Both. No I 

H. N. Then go, false one, and break her heart 
with the announcement that you dare not wed her! 

L. N. Go yourself, and blight her young life with 
the news that you retract your engagement. 

H. N. Ah! Lucius, I have an idea! I wonder — 
but it can't be — it is, though — it is. Brother, did 
you notice anything peculiar in Phillis's manner to 
you the other day? 

L. N. No, did you? 

H.N. Lucius, a secret! [Approaching him. ^ She 
loves us both? 

L. N. Unfortunate girl! We must be kind to 
her. 

H. N. We will be. Brother, I think we have 
made a mutual mistake. I thought you wanted to 
marry her. 

L. N. And I thought you did. 

H. N. I remember nothing in fiction so startling! 

L. N. Nor do I! We can't both marry her. Let's 
flip up for it, Humphrey. 

H. N. That won't do, Lucius; we will neither of 
ais'marry her. 

L. N. No, no. Marriage be hanged. Hereafter 
we will be free to woo, but not to wed. 

H. N. To woo, but not to wed. Now let's seal that 
resolve in bumpers of glorious beer. [Preparing to 

go A 

L. N. [Also going toward door.'] Let us do it. 
Marriage be hanged, Humphrey. 

H. N. I echo the sentiment. But [nudging L. N.\ 
oh, you gay Lothario, to trifle thus with a young 
girl's affections. 

L. N. [Doing the same to H. N.] Oh, you bold, 
bad man, to make love when you don't mean it. 
[Ex. Humphrey and L. N.] [As thetj retire enter 
Phil, and Mort.] 

Phil. Oh, Jack, you should have seen the expres- 
sion of her eyes. They'll haunt me till my dying 
day! Who would have thought she was such a 
wicked woman. Poor Mr. St. John! [Weepi^tg.] 

MoRT. Don't cry, darling [caressing her]; no use 
at all. Ill keep my little woman away from such 
things in future, if I can. 

Phil. I know it, Jack; but, oh, it was so terrible 
to see him fall there. 

MoRT. [Petting her.] Try not to think of it, dear. 



42 A STREAK OF LUCK. 

I'm going to keep everything disagreeable awajr 
from little Phil. 

Phil. No, Jack, no; I don't want you to do that. 
I'll try to meet everything disagreeable that comes. 
It will make more of a woman of me, and you kno^sv 
I want [nestling close to him] to be as much of a 
woman as I can be for your sake. Jack. 

MoRT. You can't be a much sweeter little woman, 
Phil. 'Tisn't possible; you know. 

Phil. Stupid! I don't know anything of the kind 
Jack, it seems to me — it seems to me as if, just as 
long as I love you and you love me, I shall grow 
better all the time, and you'll grow better. I sup- 
pose you are — I wouldn't admit it to any one but 
you— capable of a little improvement. 

MoRT. Oh, what a foolish girl I 

Phil. Jack, I want to walk. Since yesterday I 
can't keep still a moment, I'm so nervous. Come, 
we'll go up to the Park. [They 2Jrepare to go, and 
just as they retire, ente?^ Jos., Noiv., Fra. and Bain.] 
Oh, Laurence, how is Mrs. St. John. [Going up to 
him.] Do you know I pit}^ her so, that if I could 
help her at all I'd do it so gladly? [Fra., J. N. and 
Bain talk together.] 

Bain. No, Phil., you must not see her. She i3 in 
a dreadful state. I think from this time out she'll 
be a changed woman. But you're going walking? 
Well, poor child, you need the exercise. And I 
suppose, young man [to Mort.], that where she goe& 
you'll go. Good-bye. [Ex. Mort. and Phil.] Well, 
Frary, what were you saying? 

Fra. I was saying that this death of St. John 
leaves me as far adrift as a log in a Western over- 
flow. I don't know where I stand. I ain't sure that 
I stand at all. St. John's the only man that could 
tell, and he's dead. [Enter servant, v^ho hands Fra. 
telegram.] What's this? My agent wires me :" AU 
the oil wells on your property have stopped run- 
ning." The devil they have! Well, good-bye, old 
wells! You didn't flow milk and honey, but some- 
thing that was a darned sight more profitable. No 
matter; I've got a pile of money. 

J. Now. Mr. Frary, how had St. John invested 
your money? 

Fra. In Boundary Upgrades. Most of it, any- 
way. 

J. Now. In Boundary Upgrades? Why they're 
falling off steadily. 

Fra. I know that, but St. John must have sold 
out day before yesterday. 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 43 

J. Now. Are you sure? 

Fra. That was the plan. Oh, it's all right. I'm 
more troubled about those notes that killed the poor 
fellow. Nowark, if I had the man within reach 
that wi'ote those anonymous letters I'd dust him 
cleaner than an Iowa tornado ever dusted a prairie 
village. I wouldn't leave— I wouldn't leave enough 
of him to feed to a cat. 

Bain. And the worst of it is that these things 
may be kept up. I know St. John, if he could 
wish to-day, would wish the honor of the woman 
that bore his name, no matter that she had no right 
to it, untarnished. No one except ourselves knows 
what killed St. John; but how long will it be so? 
His child must have his property, his name be kept 
clean. 

Fra. It's damnable. And who can tell us what's 
at the bottom of this? 

Servant. [Annomicing']. Mr. Ephraim Sowlld, 
sir. 

SowLLD. \ Entering]. Good afternoon, gentlemen; 
good day, Mr. Frary. I'm the bearer of bad 
tidings. There's the worst break in the market 
Wall street ever saw. Upgrades are downgrades 
this time. We've irretrievably gone to smash. 
Bain. What do you mean? 

SowLLD. What do I mean? Just what I say. St. 
John and Company stopped payment to-day at noon. 
Now. Failed! 

SowLLD. Yes, sir, failed. And I know their lia- 
bilities better than any man in the office, and they 
must be close on to five millions. I tell you it's a 
panic. 

Fra. Busted! M^ell, I must have money enough 
outside the house to keep me in food and clothing 
for a year or two. 

SowLLD. Money enough? Why, Mr. Frary, every 
cent of your money St. John could lay his hands 
on is in Upgrades. 

Fra. Why that can't be! St. John told me — 
SowLLD. I can't help that. It's all there. 
Fra. But the plan was to close out day before 
yesterday. 

SowLLD. I know that, but something was the 
matter with St. John's head, He didn't seem to 
know what he was about. I don't know what it 
was, of course, but it's certain he'd lost his grip. 
Why, not a man on the street had discounted our 
information, and we'd had it for a week. Why we 



44 A STREAK OF LUCK. 

stood in to win four millions and a quarter! And 
it's all gone. 

Fra. Wells all stopped! Money all gone — and in 
one day! Gentlemen, I'm floored. What a turn! 
What a turn! 

SowLLD. Why, sir. Upgrades were selling yester- 
day for seventy-four. Now they're offered for 
thirty. 

Fra. Lord! Lord! Why I thought Providence 
had got tired of abusing me. I'm the worst perse- 
cuted man since Job. 

SowLLD. Cheer up, my friend? You'll come out of 
all this right yet. [^Enter servant]. 

Serv. There's a gentleman below says he must 
see Mr. Frary. 

Fra. Send him up, Mary! \Ex. Servant.] I'll 
bet all I've got left to a Bungtown copper, its more 
bad news for me. Man's born to trouble. [Enter 
laivyer's clerk.] 

Clk. [Shoiving paper.] Gilead W. Frary? 

Fra. I'm that unfortunate cuss, sir. What have 
you got? An order of arrest? [Takes paper]. [Ex. 
Clerk.] Forbidden to remove any deposits — [read- 
ing.] Nowark, they've enjoined me from touching 
my own property. Now what the devil is there 
left? Won't one of you gentlemen kindly murder 
me? That's about all that can happen to me at pre- 
sent. 

Bain. One minute, Frary. Didn't I hear you say 
you had some money on deposit at the Cortlandt 
Bank? 

Fra. Yes, but can I get it out? 

Now. Give an ante-dated check, Mr. Frary. I 
advise it. 

Fra. That's so! I can do that. [Searching in 
pockets.] Not a blank check. SowUd, give me a 
blank check on the Cortlandt Bank, if you've got 
one. [Sowlld takes p)apers and pocket-hook out of 
pocket, and after searching, gives paper to Fra. Fra. 
tmf olds paper, and a second paper drops oid.] Here, 
Sowlld [taking paper to hand Sotvlld.] Hullo! 
What's this? 

Sowlld. A private paper. Let me have it. [Reach- 
ing.] 

Fra. You miserable devil! [Takes Sowlld by 
shoidders, and forces him into chair.] 

Bain and J. N. What is it? 

Fra. Bainbridge, let me see those notes sent St. 
John. [Bain, hands papers to Fra. who compares 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 45 

one of them with paper given by Sowlld.] Assure 
as the devil this is the man that killed him. Com- 
pare those two notes. [Giving them to Bain.] 

Bain. It's the same writing. But it's a woman's 
hand. 

Fra. Mr, Sowlld, if I had you out in Idaho, I 
shouldn't want to guarantee your personal safety. 
Kentucky hemp, sir, has never in my judgment 
been put to a nobler use than it would be if it were 
round your neck, drawn tight. How did you come 
by that note? 

Sowlld. I'll not answer! 

Bain. [Who has been comparing.] I have it. I 
thought I'd seen that writing before. It's Mrs. St. 
John's French maid that wrote that note. And at 
your [to Soivlld] instigation, you cur. But you — 
what did you know? 

Sowlld, More than any man in the world but 
you, Laurence Bainbridge. 

Bain. How did you know it? 

Sowlld. The witness of your marriage told me. 
She died, you know. Well, I was her friend 

Bain. And you were willing to break up a fam- 
ily, to ruin a woman's honor, to kill the man 

J. Now\ The man that took him out of the 
gutter? 

Bain. To gratify some spite against him, that I 
can't understand. 

Sowlld. Give me fair play, gentlemen — ^fair play. 
I wouldn't have harmed a hair of Henry St. 
John's head. I never meant to, but his wife — I hate 
her! See here, all's fair in war, they say, and she 
was trying to drive me out of his confidence, to put 
me back into the gutter that — I don't care who 
knows it — he did take me from. 

Bain. He asks for fair play, and asks it when the 
note he wrote or caused to be written, yesterday, 
drove St. John to his death as surely as if this man 
had driven a knife through his heart. 

Sowlld. So help me, God, I wrote no note yester- 
day. I caused none to be written. Whatever note 
St. John had, was not my work. 

Bain. .Then Toinette — how much does Toinette 
know? 

Sowlld. Toinette really knows nothing, but the 
natural genius of the French is to imitate and im- 
prove upon the original, and I suppose Toinette 
thought she'd try her hand at it alone. 

Bain. My God! man, can you joke about this! 
You shall pay for it. 



46 A STKEAK OF LUCK. 

SowLLD. In what way, Mr. Bainbridge? I only 
wrote, or caused to be written, what was true. 

Fra. Well, sir, if that's the case, I'm going to 
make you commit perjury, and under the circum- 
stances, it '11 be the most honest thing you ever did 
in your life. Sit down at that table. 

SowLLD. I'll write nothing 

Fra. [Moving towards Sowlld.] Look here, young 
man 

SowLLD. [Seating himself at table.] What do you 
want me to do? 

Fra. Nowark, you're a notary. You'll put this 
thing in a legal form for him. Write what I say 
[dictati7ig]: " Ephraim SowUd, being sworn, deposes 
and says: That all statements heretofore made or 
hereafter to be made by him, against the character 
or defaming the past history of the widow of Henry 
St. John, are absolutely and damnably false, and he 
asserts that he knows nothing against the character 
of Mrs. St. John in any particular." Now sign it. 
Don't hesitate. [Sowlld signs.] Swear him, Now- 
ark. 

Now. You solemnly swear that this affidavit, by 
you subscribed, is true, so help you God. 

Fra. Now go. Go! [Ex. Sowlld.] Oh, I've not 
got through with you yet. There ! That snake's 
fangs are drawn. 

Bain. Frary, you've saved our dead friend's mem- 
ory; you've [grasping Fra.^s hand] preserved the 
honor of the woman he thought his wife, and you've 
saved his child the stain of being called illegitimate. 
That cur won't dare do an)^thing now. [Enter Phil. ^ 
Mort. and Mrs. Sun.] 

Mrs. Sun. What was all the loud talk I heard 
here \ Has Mr. Frary been telling one of his stories ? 
[Fra crosses to Mrs. Sun. and engages in conversa- 
tion tvith her.] 

Phil. Oh, Uncle Joe [to JosNotv.] you don't know 
how fast I'm learning to spell. Jack and I were go- 
ing on a long walk, but I felt so proud of myself 
that I made him come back. Just hear me, 
J-A-C-H, Jack! There. 

Mort. K, Phil. Usually spell it with a K. 

Phil. K. then. Don't you see? I only made a 
mistake of one letter. I don't think that was very 
much, do you? 

J. Now. No, my dear, when the mistake fell from 
your lips. 

Phil, [to Bain.] What is the matter with Mr. 
Frary, Lawrence? 



A STREAK OF LUCK. 47 

Bain. My dear little girl, Mr. St. John's firm has 
failed, and we are afraid that most of Mr. Frary's 
money has gone in the failure. 

Phil. [Goi'yig to Fra.] Mr. Frary, have you lost 
your money? You shall have some of mine. I've 
got enough, and Jack and I don't want much; do 
w^e, Jack. 

MoRT. Don't want it so badly that we won't help 
Frary out of his scrape. 

Fra. [Coming forivard with Phil.] Bless your 
dear little heart, Miss Phillis, I'm sorriest for you 
and your Jack. I did intend to set you two people 
up in house -keeping in a style that should have been 
a credit to Gilead W. Frary, but I'm afraid, my 
dear, you'll have to take the will for the deed. 

Phil. [To Bain]. And Lawrence, w^hat will be- 
come of Mrs. St. John. Oh, I pity her so much. 

Bain. Don't fear for Mrs. St. John, Phil. She 
will stiU have all she deserves. Her husband in his 
lifetime gave her money enough. 

Fra. Yes, Mrs. Suncliffe, I've had a high time for 
a year or two. Whatever happens can't take away 
the recollection of that. Somehow, if everything 
is really gone, this thing seems like a sort of a 
dream. 

J. Now. Oh! Mr. Frary, I'm certain that out of 
the wreck we can save something for you. 

Fra. Well, if this has brought me nothing else, 
at least [taking hand of Mrs. Sun. and going up to 
J. Note, ivith /?er] it's brought me what a man don't 
usually get for money and that's love and friend- 
ship. 

J. Now. What, sister, you don't mean 

Mrs. Sun. I've been tired, for a long while, of 
being the widow Suncliffe. Frary isn't quite so aris- 
tocratic, but 

Fra. The fact is, we have concluded to enter into 
a partnership. By the way, I agreed to furnish 
some capital. I'm in doubt about that. [To Mrs. 
Sun.] What do you say? Does the agreement hold 
good? 

Mrs. Sun. Yes; I'll take my chances, I think. 

Phil. What, Aunt Agatha; you? Why — [Throws 
her arms round Mrs. Suncliffe^s neck and kisses 
her.] 

Bain. [To Mort.] How knowing our little Phil, 
has become, all of a sudden. 

Mort. Strange! Never could undeistand a wo- 
man's way, anyhow. [Reenter L. Now. and H. 
Now.] 



48 A STREAK OF LUCK. 

L. Now, Why, brother Humphrey, this youn^ 
lady doesn't seem to be in that dejected state proper 
to the woman tormented to know which of two 
brothers, one the greatest artist of his age — yes, no 
self -deprecation, Humphrey — the other, hem 

H. Now. The other, Lucius, a soul-enthralling 
poet. Yes, yes; I insist upon it. But what does 
this mean? 

Fra. Ladies and gentlemen, one time I was a sort 
of stock- farmer in Nebraska. 'Twasn't much of a 
farm — only a few hundred acres or so— but I raised 
some considerable stock and cut some grass. One 
night there came along a tornado that blew every 
living thing on that farm, except the mules and me, 
into the Missouri Eiver. That was bad enough, but 
right on the heels of that came a thunder-storm, 
and the lightning set fire to all my grain. That 
farm was as desolate as Ararat when the flood sub- 
sided. There wasn't a mitigating circumstance to 
the whole thing. But now — well 

Bain. Now you think that your last good fortune 
has brought you something worth more than 
money? 

Fka. I do, sir; and if every dollar's gone, I be- 
lieve I've gained something worth living for from 
my last 

"Streak of Luck." 

(curtain falls.) 



LIBRPRY OF CONGRESS 




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